


I Like to See You, But Then Again

by Polaris



Series: I’m Not in Love [9]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Family Feels, Other, Ravager Culture, Rocket’s eternal struggle to feel like a person, Sean Gunn is invited to the wedding because I have no shame, Self-Hatred, Weddings, so much raccoon sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-02 22:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polaris/pseuds/Polaris
Summary: Sometimes, when everything’s going really smooth and life seems to fall into a comfortable routine, something happens to completely fuck it all up.It’s Quill’s fault, naturally. Rocket ain’t really sure what else he expected at this point.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a very special someone who bookmarked one of my stories with an absolutely delightful note. No one would ever be rude enough to actually call the main pairing in a series disgusting on a bookmark, so I can only assume it’s some new colloquialism for incredibly hot. Don’t worry, I added extra smut this time.
> 
> Redeaglewolf16, this one's for you!

Sometimes, when everything’s going really smooth and life seems to fall into a comfortable routine, something happens to completely fuck it all up.

It’s Quill’s fault, naturally. Rocket ain’t really sure what else he expected at this point.

It all goes to hell on a perfectly normal night. Rocket’s curled up in Kraglin’s lap watching an eating contest taking place on Krylor. Yondu fell asleep before the second round, head tipped back in his chair while he snores almost loud enough to drown out the commentary.

Quill turns the volume up, shooting him an annoyed look. “He needs some kind of sleep aid.”

“Trust me, we looked into it,” Rocket mutters, throwing Yondu a look.

He snores on, oblivious.

Kraglin scratches the back of Rocket’s neck absently, eyes fixed on the Rajak contestant he’s rooting for. As Rocket watches, the chick shoves a foot-long sausage into her mouth and swallows it whole.

“Now that’s talent,” says Quill, and they all snicker.

Kraglin’s been scratching too long in the same spot, so Rocket turns his head and catches his fingers with his teeth. He gnaws gently until Kraglin snorts and finds a new spot to scratch.

Quill eyes the pair of them. “God, you three are disgusting. You should really just make it official, since you already act like old married people.”

The mood in the room instantly changes; Kraglin’s jaw drops and his whole body tenses up. Rocket picks his head up in time to see Quill go pale with horror. 

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “Shit, Kraglin, I—”

Without a word Kraglin whips the remote at Yondu. It hits him square in the chest and he wakes up with a snort. “The hell?”

“Do you know,” hisses Kraglin, “what your _dumbass kid_ just said t’ me?”

Yondu blinks as Quill wails “I’m _sorry!_ ”

“What am I missing?” asks Rocket. If they keep being weird he’s gonna miss the judging.

“Tell him!” snaps Kraglin. “Go on, _Cap’n,_ say it to him like ya said it to me!”

Quill looks like he’s gonna puke; he swallows hard and whispers, “I said why don’t you just make it official, since you already act married.”

Yondu’s mouth falls open. “ _Shit._ ”

—

So that’s how Rocket learns this fun tidbit of Ravager culture. Apparently any time folks wanna get married, they gotta appeal to their captain. And if their captain thinks they’re taking too long to haul their asses to the altar, he pipes up and says so.

Which leads them to their present conundrum. Quill, by being an idiot who don’t think before he speaks, has forced a conversation none of them were thinking about having.

Well, Rocket wasn’t, anyway. He’s watching Yondu pace around their room, coat whipping around his calves, and he can feel the excitement pouring off him. And Kraglin’s sitting next to him on the bed, perked up like a f’saki that’s scented prey. They’re talking like it’s a done deal.

“—so what kinda contract would we even draw up? I mean, if we’re gonna do it.” Kraglin throws a guilty look at Rocket. “You don’t know how none of this works, so ya?”

Rocket shakes his head. “Nope, and I’m pretty sure we skipped a step.”

They both stop and blink at him.

“Uh, were either of you assholes gonna ask if I wanna get married?” Rocket crosses his arms.

Yondu looks flustered. “What, you don’t wanna?”

Shit. Rocket can’t look into those hopeful red eyes and say no. He huffs. “I never thought about it before.”

He’s staring at Yondu, hoping he gets what Rocket’s really trying to say. Thank god they’re the same; Yondu blows out a breath and plonks his ass on the bed next to Rocket. “Sometimes it’s hard t’ remember you wasn’t always here, rat.”

Rocket scowls.

“You say no, it’s fine,” Yondu tells him. “Ain’t like we ain’t happy here as it is.”

Kraglin nods.

“When does Quill need an answer by?” Rocket asks.

“Week from askin’,” Yondu tells him. “So take some time an’ think it over.”

Rocket nods, leaning into it when Yondu presses a hand to his cheek.

He thinks it over. Later that night, with the two of them snoring beside him, he stares at the ceiling and thinks about it. Rocket doesn’t know anyone who’s married except for Stakar and Aleta. Maybe Dey, if you’d count him as an actual acquaintance. Apparently he’s got a wife and kid stashed somewhere. Still. That ain’t a part of life Rocket knows anything about.

He always just figured he was lucky to find anyone who wanted him. Marriage is for real people, not—

He stops himself and curls up. He’s been trying really hard to stop thinking of himself as an animal. He knows it bugs Kraglin, and Groot gives him these weird sad looks when he drops those kinds of comments in front of him. The little shit is taller than Rocket now, and he’s perceptive enough that Rocket’s really gotta watch how he talks around him.

A wedding is another thing on the big long list of shit that normal people get to do that Rocket never could. And it don’t help matters that Yondu and Kraglin have clearly thought about this before, when Rocket’s still trying to wrap his head around the concept.

What’s the point of getting married anyway? They’re happy the way they are, Yondu just said so. So he’d get to call them his husbands, so what? Not like that’s gonna magically make Kraglin start doing laundry or Yondu stop eating Beasties even though he knows they give him gas.

Why change anything if they’re already good?

Okay. Okay, so he’s scared. Change scares him. Rocket scowls and huffs into his own tail. There, he’s admitted it. Round of applause. But this...

This is a big freaking change. It means being _public_ about what they are to each other. And for all that Rocket makes sex jokes with the others when Quill’s not around, he’s not sure how he feels about waving their thing to the whole galaxy.

He can’t sleep. Not with this shit hanging over his head. He squirms out from under Yondu’s arm and drops to the floor. He’ll build something. That always makes him happy.

—

“I am Groot?”

Rocket looks up, ears flattening. “I’m in the middle of something, hold on.”

“I am Groot.”

“No, I didn’t forget. Just gimme a sec, and grab the wrench.”

“I am Groot?” Groot hands it over.

“Just tweaking the new aero rig design,” Rocket tells him absently.

Groot hops onto the bench next to Rocket and watches as he tightens the piece he’s working on. He kicks his little feet impatiently.

Rocket sets the wrench down. “Sure you don’t want Quill? He’s a damn good pilot.”

“I am Groot,” Groot says stubbornly, and Rocket grins.

The kid wants to learn to pilot, and everyone agreed that he’s big enough to start. Drax seems to think he’s too young, but what does Drax know? So Groot’s getting piloting lessons. Rocket tries not to be too smug about the fact that he’s Groot’s favorite to go out with.

Rocket slides off the bench and they head to the hangar. Rocket does most of the repairs on both M-ships, so he figures he gets full use of both of them. Nebula’s old ship, recently dubbed the _Benetar_ after some Terran singer, is bulkier than the _Milano_ , built more as a tank than for agility, so Rocket decides to take Groot out in that one. Not like Nebula uses it much anymore; she’s happy to take the _Milano_ when she goes off on her own.

Rocket knows Gamora’s been lobbying hard to get Quill to move into the bigger, safer ship, but he’s staying out of it. At least until he installs the heated seats. Then he’ll weigh in. “Okay, show me your pre-flight checks.”

Groot goes through them with the exasperation of a kid who’s been drilled constantly for the last few weeks. Rocket crosses his arms, makes him double check some things just for good measure, and then sits down in the copilot’s seat. “Okay. Hit the doors and take us out.”

Groot’s not exactly a natural, but Rocket’s got a strong stomach. They lurch out of the Quadrant unevenly while Rocket plots a simple course. They’ll go a few kliks away, practice the basics, and go home before Groot flies them into a star. 

After about an hour of gripping the armrests hard enough to leave claw marks, Rocket tells him he’s had enough. They hang in space and Rocket opens a package of candy for them to pass back and forth.

“I am Groot?” Groot wants to know.

“You’re gettin’ there, kid. No one learns this crap overnight.” Rocket reaches out and ruffles the leaves Groot’s started sprouting from his head. They’re weird and messy looking, like a mop of hair on a humie.

“I am Groot!” Groot shoves his hand off and fixes them.

Rocket sighs. Being the only one of his kind left means his kid’s gonna spend his whole life imitating humies just like Rocket has. Leaves a bad taste in his mouth, like those Xandarian snacks Kraglin and Nebula like so much.

“Hey, so,” he says quietly after a minute, “me an’ Yondu an’ Kraglin were thinkin’ about getting married.”

Groot turns and stares at him, cheeks bulging with candy. He chews rapidly and swallows. “I am Groot?”

“No, nothin’ for sure. Just...it’s Quill’s fault.” Rocket gives Groot the rundown. “Anyway, I wanted to know what you think.”

“I am Groot?”

“What do you mean, do I love ‘em? I put up with Yondu’s farting, don’t I?” Rocket scowls. “What’s love got to do with gettin’ married anyway?” 

“I am Groot.”

“Oh, so I should do it because everyone on the holodramas does it?”

“I am Groot!”

Rocket’s ears go back. “I am _not_ being an asshole! I wanted to know what you think.”

“I am Groot,” says Groot with a roll of his eyes.

And that shuts Rocket up. “I—thanks.” 

His kid just wants him to be happy. That’s real sweet. 

But it don’t answer his question. “So...you got any thoughts about it?”

Groot shrugs, looking out at the stars. “I am Groot?”

“I dunno if things would be different. I don’t know anyone who got married.”

“I am Groot.”

“Well, yeah, Drax, but he didn’t think Quill an’ Gamora should get together, so what does he know?” Rocket smirks at the little grin that blooms across Groot’s face. Then he sighs. “Guess I should ask if I’m gonna make a decision, huh?”

“I am Groot,” Groot agrees. He twitches his hands toward the controls as Rocket fires up the engines.

“Nope. No way. I’ll take us in. Can’t get married if you crash us into the side of the Quadrant, can I?”

“I am Groot!”

—

Rocket’s scheduled to be on the bridge with Yondu late in the afternoon, so he figures that’s as good a time as any to ask.

He waits until they’ve confirmed their course headings and then says, “so what’s the big hairy deal about gettin’ married anyway?”

Yondu pauses before setting down his datapad. He fixes Rocket with a shrewd look. “You wanna tell me what you’re really askin’, boy?”

Rocket decides to triple check the jump schedule, just in case. “I mean what changes? Why you so excited about it if it isn’t gonna make a difference?”

“Never said nothin’ would change.” Rocket can feel Yondu’s eyes on him. “Some changes are good.”

“Convince me.” The words are out of Rocket’s mouth before he can stop them. He looks up in time to see Yondu’s face close off and has to amend, “convince me things could get better, because they’re pretty good right now.”

“Nice save.” Yondu eyes him. “Ain’t quite what a man wants t’ hear, that you need convincing t’ marry him.”

Rocket crosses his arms. “You’re thinkin’ of me as a person again,” he says softly. “Gotta quit that.”

Yondu’s face twists, but all he does is turn away. “Gives rights,” he says after a bit. “Makes your clan acknowledge your spouse after ya die. Or if ya cross clans, your partner’s clan’ll take you in if ya want.”

“An’ it makes it public,” says Rocket.

“Well, yeah. We do weddings, just like we do funerals.” Yondu frowns at him. “Is that th’ part you don’t like?”

Sometimes it sucks having someone around who knows you so well. Rocket scowls. “I mean, standin’ up in front of a bunch of strange Ravagers an’ promising not to bang anyone but you an’ Kraglin for the rest of my life seems unnecessary.”

Yondu snorts. “An’ if that’s all a wedding was, you’d be right. But it means more’n that. It’s a show o’ strength, a declaration. Means ain’t nobody gonna cross you without me an’ Kraglin takin’ ‘em down.”

Rocket eyes him. “So when Kraglin got shitkicked on the _Starhawk,_ we woulda been allowed to kill those bastards ourselves if we were married?”

“Yep. Avengin’ a spouse is expected.” Yondu looks pleased that Rocket’s catching on.

“You said a bunch of shit about clans,” Rocket says thoughtfully. “None of that applies to us. We’re all part of the same clan, according to Stakar. Where’s the perks of that?”

“I’m kin t’ Stakar an’ Aleta,” says Yondu. “Means you would be too.”

Now Rocket gets it. “You playin’ politics?”

“No!” Yondu scowls at him. “Not like you’re thinkin’. This just means you got a place with the Ravagers even if things go bad.”

Rocket sets his jaw, refusing to think about what that means. “If things ever get so bad that I’ve gotta throw in with Stakar, I’d rather not outlive you,” he says bluntly.

Yondu’s mouth turns down. “I ain’t gettin’ any younger, rat. Sue me for wantin’ t’ make sure you’re taken care of.”

“Yeah, that’s what I want this to be about,” says Rocket bitterly. Like knowing in his guts that Yondu was dead hadn’t been one of the worst in a long list of bad things Rocket’s been through. He turns away.

“So what _do_ ya want?” Yondu asks. “I can’t figure out where your head is on this one.”

Something unpleasant twists in Rocket’s stomach. “You can’t?” he asks quietly.

Yondu huffs. “An’ you say I mope. I got some ideas, but I can’t figure which one’s the real one. Come here an’ talk t’ me instead o’ goin’ back in your head like you do.”

Rocket scowls. “You’re givin’ me a bunch of practical reasons for Ravagers to get married,” he finally says. “Why’s it mean so much to you an’ Kraglin? Is it ‘cause you couldn’t for so long?”

Yondu gives the question its fair due, turning it over in his head for a beat before nodding. “‘S part of it. An’ it means somethin’ for Ravagers, decidin’ t’ marry the person ya wanna stick with.”

“Or person and rat thing,” Rocket mutters.

“Wish you’d quit that.” Yondu gives him a serious face, and it makes Rocket huff.

“Hard to pretend when I gotta look in the mirror everyday,” he says with a shrug.

“Don’t gotta torture yourself over it though.” Yondu crosses his arms. He smirks. “I think you’re real pretty, an’ that oughta be enough since I have great taste.”

Rocket raises an eyebrow. “Your favorite food is Beastie worms and you collect tacky shit,” he says flatly.

Yondu looks offended. “My shit ain’t tacky!”

“Yes it is! It’s fucking hideous.” Rocket pauses. “In retrospect, no wonder you picked me.”

“My shit is _cute,_ ” Yondu grits out, “an’ so are you.”

Rocket opens his mouth to say something shitty and stops himself. Dammit, Groot’s right. He is being an asshole. “Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing his hands across his face. “I’m being a dick again.”

“Mind tellin’ me why?” Yondu doesn’t disagree with him.

Rocket sighs. “I’m not gonna say it right.”

“So say it wrong.” 

“Shit.” Rocket looks up at the ceiling. “You an’ Kraglin are both excited about this, right? You wanna get hitched.”

Yondu concedes with a nod.

“An’ I gotta be real with you, Yondu, I never even thought about gettin’ married. So it’s a little bit like walkin’ into a conversation at the tail end an’ trying to catch up.” He considers. “An’ it feels like someone’s making decisions without askin’ you.”

“We _are_ askin’ you,” says Yondu, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah, but you’re asking me after you already made a choice!” Rocket finally looks at Yondu, praying he understands. “Feels like you’re just waitin’ on me. Like I’m holdin’ you back if I don’t wanna do this.”

Yondu blinks, like that hasn’t even crossed his mind. “Hell.” 

Rocket looks down at his hands. “Sorry,” he mutters again. He ain’t totally sure what he’s apologizing for.

Yondu clears his throat. “You got a point, you know,” he says.

Rocket looks up.

“Things ain’t so bad now,” Yondu acknowledges. He gives Rocket a little smile. “Could even say they’re good.”

“Real good,” Rocket agrees softly.

“An’ if we don’t get married, they’re gonna keep on bein’ good. But the truth of it is, I’m a greedy son of a bitch.” Yondu looks serious now. “I like seein’ my people in my colors, an’ I like the idea of you an’ Kraglin bein’ mine. I want it.” 

Rocket blinks. And then he starts to think about it, the warm curl of possession that he feels every time he passes Yondu and smells himself, or Kraglin’s scent lingering on the bridge after he’s left. The sense of contentment when it’s just the three of them and Groot watching sports at the end of the night and everything smells like home and family. The rest of them can’t smell anything important, so they don’t feel it like Rocket does, as visceral and integral as the cybernetics under his skin. They need their own ways to make it real.

And when Yondu puts it like that, Rocket starts to get it. “Okay.”

“What?” Yondu blinks at him.

“I said okay. Let’s go tell Quill.” Rocket’s jumped headfirst into dumber shit than this, after all.

Yondu grins, a slow-spreading thing that transforms his wrinkled, scarred face into something beautiful. Rocket would never say it out loud, but he loves that grin. He’s never seen it quite this big before. “First come here an’ gimme a kiss,” Yondu demands.

So Rocket does.


	2. Chapter 2

After they fix their clothes (since kissing turned into groping which turned into sex), they go find Kraglin. 

He’s with Mantis and Nebula, trying to keep up with the show they’ve started watching. He looks grateful for the distraction when he notices them. “Hey.”

“Call Quill,” Yondu tells him, still grinning. He hasn’t stopped since Rocket said yes.

Kraglin brightens and looks at Rocket. “You wanna?”

“Already said so, didn’t I?” Rocket’s surly tone is mostly for show; he’s not too good at hiding how happy he is, but it seems weird to get too excited about it out where people can see.

Kraglin grabs him before he can do more than squawk, and then he’s being hugged tight enough that his joints creak from the force of it. Kraglin’s voice breathes next to his ear, “I’m real happy, Rocket.”

Rocket lets himself relax then, sighing and closing his eyes. Kraglin smells happy, perfectly happy in a way he rarely is. It’s good.

“What’s going on?” asks Mantis. “I can feel your joy from here.”

Rocket scowls at her. “Shut up, Mantis.” He slides out of Kraglin’s arms, surly again. This public shit is embarrassing.

But Yondu’s already at the wall, telling Quill over the comm to get down here and bring everyone with him. No backing out of it now, even if Rocket has to fight down the urge to hide in the vents.

Quill’s the first one through the door, with Drax behind him, booming, “Congratulations on your impending nuptials!”

“You are getting married?” Mantis gasps, clasping her hands in front of her. Her antennae perk up excitedly.

Quill stops in front of Yondu. “Heard you have something to say to me, old man,” he says softly.

Yondu grunts, but nods. “We decided t’ do it,” he tells Quill shortly.

Quill beams. “That’s awesome. So have you told Rocket about what to expect?”

“No,” says Rocket loudly. “What should I expect?”

Quill blinks. “I’ll give them a chance to explain it to you themselves. Yondu’s the one who taught me all this stuff anyway.” He grins at Rocket. “I’m trusting you with my dad, man.”

Rocket straightens up. He doesn’t think Quill’s joking, but he has no idea what to say to that, so he just nods. What Quill’s trusting Rocket with, he ain’t sure. Ain’t like Rocket’s planning on treating Yondu any different.

“So okay,” Quill’s saying, “I’ll notify any kin, and—” He stops. “That’s, um, just Stakar and Aleta, right?”

Kraglin nods shortly. “I ain’t got anybody.”

For a second, Rocket remembers Lylla. Wonders what she’d say if she could see him now, about to get married like a real person. 

He pushes it away; it don’t matter what Lylla would have thought because she’s dead. 

“Right. I’ll start with Stakar. Maybe he can tell Aleta himself, so I don’t have t—”

“Quill,” snaps Yondu. “You’re gonna do this right, boy.”

“Oh come on, Yondu,” Quill whines, “she scares me!”

Yondu crosses his arms.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll call Aleta first.”

“There ya go.” Yondu nods.

Rocket snickers in spite of himself, at least until Mantis asks, “so will this be like the Xandarian weddings we see on the dramas?”

“Fuck no,” comes out of Kraglin’s mouth before Rocket can say it. “None o’ that fancy shit. Ravager weddings are _good._ ”

“I’ve seen your idea of good,” Rocket says dubiously. “Wanna tell me more about that?”

“Ya exchange useful shit instead o’ just jewels, for one thing,” Kraglin tells him with a grin. 

“Whole bunch o’ presents,” Yondu says happily. “An’ them flowers we burn get everybody nice an’ relaxed. Little bit o’ blood, but that part don’t last long.”

“Why is there blood?” asks Gamora suspiciously; she’s been hanging back giving Rocket looks.

Yondu shrugs. “Binding,” he says simply. “Somethin’ as important as a marriage needs blood oaths.”

“I see.” She sounds doubtful, but like hell is Rocket admitting to second thoughts in front of her. 

He makes a face at her where the others can’t see and smirks when she scowls. Gamora might have second thoughts about him and Yondu and Kraglin, but Rocket sure don’t. They’re the only thing that makes sense in the chaos of this wedding crap.

He just has to survive the wedding. Then he can be married and things will be great again.

—

Looking back, Rocket’s not sure why he thought Aleta would be more laid back about wedding stuff than Stakar. After all, she got them all matching outfits the last time they saw her. He figures he just never put any thought into getting married and so didn’t consider how over the top she was likely to get.

He’s been on this conference call for approximately ten years while she and Yondu go over stuff and Kraglin nods dutifully.

It’s marginally less painful than being awake for brain surgery.

“Aleta, I don’t know most o’ these people!” Yondu sounds depressingly like Quill when he whines. “Why you gotta invite them for?”

She narrows her eyes. “You understand your position, right? You know what it says about the state of things if Stakar and I let this opportunity pass?”

Rocket’s real sorry he tuned back in. “You wanna repeat that?” he says to her.

Aleta shrugs. “Yondu’s been recently reinstated, and you’re our newest—and only—proxy clan. You like to strategize, rat thing. You remember the warm welcome Obfonteri got back on the _Starhawk,_ don’t you?”

Rocket narrows his eyes. “We’re using a wedding as a show of force?”

“Of course we are.” Aleta leans toward the screen. “Weddings are always a good way to signal clan loyalties. If Stakar and I let our closest kin have a quiet, unremarked-on wedding, that would tell people that we don’t much care what happens to Yondu.”

Rocket shoots Yondu a glance; sure enough, the bastard’s trying and failing not to look pleased about the whole thing. Rocket takes a moment to kick himself for getting involved with a couple Ravagers before he learned anything about how they do shit. “Okay, so a show of force. Tell me what that looks like for you.”

Aleta’s smile is all teeth. “We force the entire Ninety-Nine to show up and bring gifts.”

Kraglin hisses. “We ain’t got the money t’ reciprocate.”

“Stakar does,” Aleta says carelessly. “Don’t worry about that. The point is that this is going to prove to all of them that you are _back_ in every way that matters.”

This is a nightmare. Rocket is living a nightmare. 

“—picked for Seconds?” Aleta’s asking while he quietly freaks out.

“Ain’t discussed it yet,” Yondu says, frowning at Kraglin. 

“Well, hurry up. We only need a few months to throw this together, unless you want to take more time to pick gifts.”

“Reckon we can get our shit together in a couple months,” Yondu mutters, and Kraglin nods.

Aleta nods. “Good. I’ll work on getting the food and booze. Let me know when you’ve picked your Seconds.” And she ends the call.

“Someone wanna tell me what a Second is supposed to be?” asks Rocket.

Kraglin looks a little stunned in the wake of Aleta’s call, but he rallies. “Uh, they’re like...backup? They’re who ya pick t’ defend you if somethin’ goes bad, or your spouse fucks you over, or ya have a fight.”

“They mediate,” says Yondu bluntly. “If there’s a conflict between spouses, your Second’s got your back.”

“Huh.” Rocket don’t much like the thought of bringing other people into their fights, but he guesses there’s some logic to that.

“Other big part of a marriage is th’ contract,” Yondu tells him. “That’s gonna be th’ most important thing. Aleta an’ the others can take care o’ the party stuff, but the contract an’ the gifts are th’ biggest parts of a Ravager marriage.”

Rocket’s already having regrets. “Okay. Tell me about this contract.”

“Terms o’ the marriage,” says Yondu. “How we divide money an’ shit, inheritance, what’s grounds for divorce, that sorta thing.”

“So you mean I can actually make you guys do laundry more than once a month as part of the terms?” asks Rocket.

Kraglin snorts. “Could. But then I’d have t’ put in somethin’ about you uncloggin’ the drain every time your damn fur backs it up.”

Rocket scowls. “Okay, fine. So this one’s important.”

“Real important.” Yondu nods. “Way I figure, we can all think up our own terms an’ then bring ‘em together an’ look ‘em over. Negotiate it all out.”

It seems reasonable. They’re all on the same page as far as day to day stuff. Rocket nods. This part should be easy.

—

Or so he thinks. Turns out, there’s a whole list of things their contract has to address before a marriage is considered valid, and the terms Rocket’s brought to the table barely meet one of ‘em.

He stares blankly at the list Yondu has up. “Why can’t we just all keep our money separate?”

“Easier t’ get rich when ya got a big pot with everyone pitchin’ in.”

“But then what, do I gotta ask permission to spend our money?” Rocket sneers. “Because I ain’t about to do that.”

“Maybe only if we go over a set amount?” suggests Kraglin. “Five hundred units?”

Rocket nods, but Yondu scowls. “Five hundred’s a lotta money.”

“I ain’t marryin’ your cheap ass if I can’t buy supplies,” snaps Rocket.

Kraglin sighs.

“I ain’t cheap, I’m practical! That’s a lotta money!”

“An’ I spend it on shit for the team! You got a problem with better gear, old man, or would you rather go back to the days when you had to pick between a space suit and an aero rig?”

That shuts Yondu up. “Fine,” he mutters. “Five hundred units.”

So they move on down the list, arguing over shit like who gets what when one of ‘em dies, what happens to the shared assets if they get divorced, who takes care of Groot if Rocket kicks first (that one’s easy and Rocket reminds himself to be extra nice to Gamora), and how many testicles they’re allowed to take as recompense for cheating.

Rocket and Kraglin argue for all. Yondu meekly agrees.

It takes most of the day and they don’t even finish. Rocket’s actually glad to slink off to bridge duty.

“Never get married,” he tells Gamora as he flings himself into the pilot’s chair.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she says mildly.

Rocket gives her a narrow look. “You got somethin’ you wanna say?”

“No,” she says, in a way that means she absolutely does.

Rocket scowls. “Go on,” he snaps. “Everyone else gets a goddamn opinion on this thing, you might as well throw yours out there too.”

Gamora gives him a startled look. “Do you _want_ to get married?” she finally asks.

Rocket opens his mouth and closes it. Truth is, he did back when Yondu told him about them all belonging to each other. That made the whole thing sound great. But now... “I—you askin’ about the wedding or everything after?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know much about marriage. I think I went to a relative’s wedding once, before Thanos took my homeworld, but I was very young.”

Rocket looks away. He doesn’t like it when she brings up Thanos. Knowing he’s out there, and that Nebula’s gonna force a showdown someday, scares the hell out of him. Better not to think about it. “Yeah, well. Bein’ married sounds fine. It’s this wedding stuff that sucks.”

“Peter seems excited about it.”

“Quill’s lucky I don’t go kick his ass.” Rocket looks at her. “You don’t tell anyone this, but I wouldn’t have picked this shit if it was up to me.”

“I think he knows,” she says quietly. “He felt so guilty.”

“He should,” says Rocket grumpily. “Now I gotta be part of a huge circus. You know how bad I am at politics?”

Gamora looks startled. “Politics? What’s happening here, exactly?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? All Ninety-Nine Ravager clans are apparently coming to my wedding now. Because that’s exactly what I wanted.” Rocket crosses his arms and glares at the stars. “I guess we gotta do it or the other clans are gonna take it as an excuse to treat us like shit.”

Gamora purses her lips. Probably wondering if she’s ever gonna have to go through this crap. “Aleta Ogord told you this?”

“Yep. An’ she likes Yondu, so I don’t think she’s lying.”

“Damn.” Gamora tips her head back, thinking. “So what does a Ravager wedding involve?”

“Presents for freaking everybody,” Rocket says. “But I guess Stakar’s footing the bill for that. And we gotta make a marriage contract where we lay out the rules for the rest of forever. I’m about to strangle Yondu’s cheap ass, for the record. Thank god for you and Quill so I don’t gotta work out custody for Groot in case I die.”

She actually blanches, which, okay fair, given some things Rocket’s heard about how Kraglin treated Quill when he was a kid. “You have nothing to worry about there,” she tells him reassuringly. Like he was worried.

Rocket grunts. “And we’ve all gotta pick Seconds, since there aren’t enough people in our business.” 

Quill must have explained that part to her, because she just asks, “so who are you thinking about?”

Rocket shrugs. He hasn’t thought about anyone. His first thought is Quill, even if he is pissed at him. Quill’s his best friend.

That plan goes straight out the window that night at dinner, when Rocket walks into the galley to see Quill and Kraglin standing close together with serious expressions.

Shit.

Kraglin nods once, and suddenly Quill grabs him and hugs him, tight enough that Kraglin squawks before he folds into it and thumps him on the back.

“God, man,” Quill says, “of _course_ I’ll do it.” He ignores Kraglin’s little pats to his shoulder and hangs on. “I’m honored. Seriously.”

Kraglin gives up patting and just hugs him back. “I ain’t been too good t’ you,” he mutters, and Rocket wonders if he should remember to go get something in another room.

“No,” Quill agrees softly, “but we’re gonna do better, right?”

Kraglin swallows, and when he opens his mouth again his voice is all squeaky like it gets when he’s trying not to cry. “Yeah. We’re gonna do better.”

Rocket clears his throat, and they jump apart like someone dumped cold water on them. 

“Hey Rocket.” Quill beams at him. “Kraglin just asked me to be his Second!”

Rocket eyes Kraglin. The bastard doesn’t even look sorry for stealing Rocket’s best friend. “Yeah, I saw that.”

There’s that guilty look Rocket’s been waiting for. “Figured you wouldn’t want him doin’ the ceremony,” Kraglin mumbles.

“Hey! I would be great at doing the ceremony.” Quill looks offended.

Kraglin looks at him until he clears his throat and goes to fill up his plate.

“I can’t believe you snagged Quill!” Rocket hisses.

Kraglin sets his jaw. “Never said ya wanted t’ pick him.”

“You never said you did! He’s my best friend!” Rocket snaps.

“Well, he’s my family!” Kraglin snaps back.

“Uh, should I go?” Quill asks from behind them.

“Nah, Pete, you’re fine,” says Kraglin, scowling at Rocket.

“Yeah, I ain’t pissed at you.” Rocket glares back at him.

“I’m gonna go.” Quill takes his plate and leaves.

“Ya can’t be happy for me?” Kraglin growls. “Not over one stupid thing?”

“I ain’t got that many friends, dude!”

“An’ I ain’t got many left either!” Kraglin shouts, and that shuts Rocket up. “I picked Pete ‘cause he’s the closest I got to a brother. Thought it’d be nice,” he trails off, looking away.

Shit. Shit, Rocket’s the biggest asshole. “I—”

“Forget it,” Kraglin says, and stalks out.

Shit.

—

“Why you pickin’ fights with Kraglin?” Yondu asks him severely. He’s got his arms crossed when Rocket looks up.

Rocket scowls and sets down his wrench. “Why you lettin’ Stakar and Aleta turn our wedding into a political circus?”

Yondu narrows his eyes. “She explained why she was doin’ it.”

“Did you ever stop to think that half of this might be her punishing Stakar for something? Don’t tell me he’s gone this long without pissing her off.”

Yondu opens his mouth and then shuts it again. “She wouldn’t use us like that.”

Rocket rests his chin in his hand and raises his eyebrows.

“I’ll ask her what he’s done recently,” Yondu mutters. “But that ain’t any reason for you t’ go takin’ shit out on Kraglin. He ain’t done a damn thing t’ you.”

“Picked Quill before I could,” Rocket mutters, but it’s halfhearted. He’s the asshole here and he knows it.

“Quit bein’ a dick,” Yondu tells him. “Go say you’re sorry, let him punish ya, an’ let’s move on. We got shit t’ do.”

“So who are you gonna pick?” Rocket asks suspiciously.

Yondu blinks. “I, uh, ain’t real sure yet,” he says after a pause.

Rocket raises an eyebrow. “You pick Martinex an’ the wedding’s off,” he says flatly.

Yondu’s mouth falls open. “It’s been thirty years!”

“Don’t care. Go ask Kraglin, he’ll agree with me.”

“Right now?” Yondu snorts. “Ya know he’s probably pissed on your bath towel, right?”

“Don’t matter.” Like Rocket cares about that anyway. He’s got a second towel. “He’ll agree with me about this.”

Yondu growls and stomps off, coat flapping. Drama queen.

Rocket watches him go grimly; Kraglin’s got good reason to be pissed at him, and he ain’t quite as forgiving as Yondu is. And Rocket still has to pick his Second.

He sighs and comms Stakar. It only takes a minute for the line to connect.

“What happened now?” Stakar asks him.

Rocket ignores that. “Tell me about picking a Second,” he says. “Kraglin picked Quill, so that’s my first choice gone.”

Stakar frowns. “Picking a Second is pretty personal,” he says. “I’m not sure you want me getting involv—”

“Shut up and tell me if there’s crap I have to consider.” Rocket’s got no patience for anything right now.

“Strongest friend you have,” Stakar tells him promptly. “You wanna bring your best to this. An’ if Obfonteri picked Quill, then you can’t pick the Daughter of Thanos. They’re together; it’s bad luck.”

Rocket thinks. “Only reason I can’t pick Gamora is ‘cause she’s with Quill?”

“That’s right. You don’t wanna put them into conflict over your marriage. It’s unlucky.” Stakar leans back.

Makes sense. But now Rocket’s thinking. “So aside from Gamora, I gotta find the most intimidating person I know?”

—

“Me?” asks Nebula blankly. “Why would I be in your wedding?”

“Because you’re the scariest person I know an’ Kraglin already picked Quill.” Rocket shrugs.

“So I’m not even your first choice.” She crosses her arms. 

Rocket has no options if she says no, so he pulls out the big guns. “I picked you instead of Gamora.”

Nebula peers at him, dark eyes narrow and suspicious. Then she shrugs. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Rocket grins. “Awesome. So your job now is to get me a present an’ kick Yondu or Kraglin’s ass if either one of ‘em ever fucks up big time in our marriage.”

“I have to get you a present?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you one too. It’s part of the deal.”

“What do you want?” Nebula asks.

“Dunno, I’ll keep you posted.” Rocket rubs his hands together.

“I want one of those guns you used to assassinate the Terran who built you,” she tells him.

“Sure, whatever.” Ain’t hard to build something he’s already made. Point is, he’s got his Second.

He spends the rest of the day feeling pretty good about things until he bumps into Kraglin outside their door. There’s an awkward pause.

“I’m sorry,” Rocket blurts. “I was a dick about Quill, you were right, an’ I’m sorry.”

Kraglin raises an eyebrow. 

Rocket sighs. “Baby,” he tries, “this stuff is makin’ me nuts. I shouldn’t be takin’ it out on you.”

“Nope,” Kraglin agrees.

“I’ll catch myself before I do it again,” he says.

“Yep.” Kraglin crosses his arms.

Rocket winces and decides to change the subject. “Yondu was thinking about picking Martinex as his Second.”

Kraglin’s jaw drops. “No he ain’t.”

“Oh yeah. I told him the wedding is off if he does.”

“Damn right,” Kraglin snarls. “The hell was he thinkin’?”

“Probably that he’s got no friends either,” Rocket mutters.

Kraglin snorts. “You got any ideas?”

“Picked Nebula.” Rocket scratches his ear.

“She’s gonna make it weird.”

“Yeah, but not as weird as if I picked Gamora. See, I can follow your weird ass rules.”

“They ain’t weird, they’re tradition.” Kraglin finally pushes open the door and lets Rocket in. “This stuff’s got symbolism an’ shit.”

“Yeah, well, they ain’t my traditions. I’m doin’ ‘em for you.”

“An’ bein’ real gracious about it too,” Kraglin mutters. He sits on the bed, where Rocket notices his pillow is not.

It was there this morning. “You wipe your ass on my stuff, baby?”

“Nope. That don’t bug you enough t’ be worthwhile.” Kraglin smirks nastily.

Oh hell. He didn’t think he’d hurt Kraglin’s feelings that bad. “Can I grovel?” he asks hopefully.

Kraglin considers. “Maybe.”

“Will it do any good?”

“Might.” Kraglin leans back a little. Spreads his legs.

Rocket eyes him. “There a particular kind of apology you’re lookin’ for?” 

“The kind with your tongue don’t sound so bad.” Kraglin raises his chin.

“Been waitin’ for me to apologize?” Rocket asks slyly. “Nobody to take care of your tight little ass without me around?”

Kraglin glares. “Keep talkin’ smug,” he says softly. “You ain’t gettin’ yours until I’m good an’ convinced you’re sorry.”

Rocket grins. “Then get that shit off an’ I can show you how sorry I am.”

Kraglin tosses his big knife aside and shimmies out of his jumpsuit. Like a gangly, hairy eel, Rocket thinks fondly as he wiggles himself into a comfortable position on his stomach. He’s got his ass propped in the air with a pillow to cradle his hips.

Rocket spares a moment to mourn the pillow he’s lost, but whatever. He’s lived without a pillow before.

So he hops onto the bed and dances his claws up the back of Kraglin’s legs to make him shiver. Given what a jerk he was about Quill, he figures he oughta make this apology rimjob one of the best he’s ever given.

Kraglin parts his legs as Rocket settles between them, turning his head where he’s got it cradled in his arms to glance back. “You gonna actually do anything back there?”

“Wanna do this right.” Rocket nuzzles his cheek against the small of Kraglin’s back. “Guy like you deserves good shit, you know?”

“Like a supportive fiancé?” Kraglin asks wryly.

The word catches Rocket off guard. They haven’t used it before now, and he ain’t sure how he feels about it. “Yeah,” he finally says. “You definitely deserve that.” He spreads Kraglin’s cheeks and licks the top of his crack to avoid talking about this shit anymore.

Kraglin tenses, breathing in sharply and then sighing when Rocket’s tongue traces around his hole. He may not like to bottom much, but Kraglin _loves_ getting his ass eaten. And for whatever reason he don’t ask Yondu for it. Some stupid holdout from the bad old days, Rocket thinks, but he’s not about to open that can of worms.

So he concentrates on licking away the musk and sweat that clings to Kraglin’s skin here, until he tastes like nothing but Rocket’s spit and his moans echo off the walls. Rocket comes up for air and takes the opportunity to lick his hands soft. “Want me to jerk you off, baby?” he asks roughly.

“Yeah.” Kraglin’s voice is real soft and breathy, and he struggles to get his knees underneath him so Rocket can reach his dick.

“There we go.” Rocket rests his cheek on Kraglin’s thigh again, feeling weird and soft toward him. He gets like this sometimes, with Kraglin so pliant under him and that delicate skin so close to his teeth. Like he remembers how easy it is to hurt him.

He’s gotta start remembering that shit when they aren’t in bed.

Next time, he thinks as he goes back in, savoring the way Kraglin’s hole clenches and twitches when he licks it. After the wedding they’ll have plenty of time to practice not hurting each other. For now, he can do this. 

Kraglin moans shakily when Rocket gets his hands around his cock. Rocket cups a palm over the head while he teases the shaft with his claws, making Kraglin jump and buck. 

“Shit,” he whispers. “Shit, that’s good, ya fuckin’ tease.”

“I ain’t teasin’ you,” Rocket whispers back, curling his hand around Kraglin’s cock. He knows Kraglin likes how small his hands are—they make his dick feel huge by comparison. So he jacks him steadily, bringing him up as he noses under his balls to tease there. He waits until Kraglin lets out a needy sob and then goes back to his hole. 

Kraglin’s tense all over, straining toward his orgasm as Rocket licks him again. Gentle, soft licks that make Kraglin shake, just a little. Carefully, with the same precision he uses to build bombs, Rocket increases the speed of his hands, and grins against Kraglin’s ass when he gets a loud groan for his trouble.

“Fuckin’—c’mon, princess,” Kraglin hisses. “Wanna come.”

Rocket hums and slurps across Kraglin’s hole, feeling it flutter under his tongue. Not long now.

“Ah, ah hell,” Kraglin whines, and then his cock’s jerking in Rocket’s hands as he comes with a shaky moan. “Fuck,” he gasps, slumping face down on the bed when Rocket pulls his hands away.

Rocket licks himself clean, looking Kraglin over with a critical eye. He looks pretty fucked-out, so Rocket congratulates himself on a job well done. He still ain’t sure he’s getting his pillow back, though.

“Okay,” comes Kraglin’s muffled voice. “I guess I forgive ya.”

“Cool.” Rocket drapes himself over his back. Kraglin grunts, but doesn’t move even when Rocket snuffles the back of his neck. “For the record,” he says awkwardly, “it ain’t bein’ married to you that’s freakin’ me out.”

Kraglin turns his head for air. “I know.”

“Good. I ain’t good at this stuff.”

“You ain’t a Ravager,” says Kraglin softly. “None o’ this means anything to you.”

“Yeah, but you both—” Rocket breaks off and looks down. “It means something to you.”

“Yeah,” Kraglin agrees.

Rocket licks his bare shoulder. “I’m doing this for you,” he says again.

“I know.” Kraglin reaches back to touch him, and Rocket leans into his hand like a cat. “You want me t’ do somethin’ for ya? I can feel your dick pokin’ me.”

“Nah.” Rocket nibbles his fingers. “Wasn’t about gettin’ mine.”

He can see Kraglin’s profile, and the soft little smile that spreads over his face. “I’ll get you a new pillow,” Kraglin promises.

“Why? What happened to the old one?”

“Stuffed it in the vents by the engine room.”

“You _what?_ ”

“Yep. Orloni’ll have it by now.” Kraglin moves his fingers back out of biting distance.

“So who does the come pillow belong to?”

Kraglin reaches down and pulls it out. The come is starting to dry, crusting the fabric and flaking off in patches where it was too thick. “Here’s your backup.”


	3. Chapter 3

“So,” Quill asks brightly the next morning, “you started on your vows yet?”

Rocket pauses with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. Across the table, Gamora buries herself in the parenting book she’s reading.

“Vows?” asks Rocket.

“Yeah. I mean, they’ve got the standard ones, but those aren’t very romantic. You’re allowed to do your own.” Quill eyes Gamora, who ignores him harder.

“What’s wrong with the standard ones?” Rocket’s confused. He just picked his Second and he’s gotta make some weapons for people. Ain’t that enough?

Apparently not, because Quill’s frowning. “Kraglin said he’s making changes.”

Rocket pauses. “Did he now? Did he say what he was changing?”

Quill looks guilty. “I’m not supposed to give you specifics. Besides, he said you’d probably know what he’s gonna say.”

“Yeah, I’m great at telepathy,” Rocket grunts. But hell, if Kraglin’s changing vows and shit then Rocket’s really gotta step it up. “Hey, who’s your favorite fence in these parts?”

“Hm?” Quill looks up from where he’s trying to read over Gamora’s shoulder. “What?”

“I gotta get some shit that might be hard to find. Who do you go to around here for rare materials?”

“Oh. Uhh...around here, probably Ormi Selova. Been awhile since I talked to him though.”

“What’s he deal in?”

“This and that.” Quill eyes him. “What were you looking for?”

Rocket considers. Quill’s Kraglin’s Second, not his. But no one knows Yondu and Kraglin like Quill does, so he figures there’s no one better to tell him if this idea is stupid. “Yaka ore. I’m gonna replace those darts Yondu keeps on him. Might work as a backup weapon too, in case he ever loses the arrow again.”

Quill’s eyes get real round. “Oh man,” he says softly. “That—yeah, no, he’s gonna flip over that.”

“That’s really thoughtful, Rocket,” says Gamora, propping her chin in her hand.

He bristles a little, just out of habit, but pushes it down. “Thanks.”

Quill grins. “So you know that as Kraglin’s Second, it’s my job now to make sure your present for him is just as good, right?”

Rocket sighs. “I still ain’t sure what to get Kraglin,” he mutters.

“He hard to buy for,” Quill agrees. “I’m working out what to get him too.”

“Weddings suck.” Rocket drains his coffee. “I like ammo, if anyone needs ideas for me. Quill, gimme that dude’s number. I gotta track down some yaka ore.”

Gamora looks a little too relieved not to be involved in this crap. Rocket’s kinda jealous. 

—

Rocket’s haggling prices over a depressingly tiny scrap of yaka when Yondu slinks into his workshop looking miserable. He hastily closes the window he was typing in. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

Yondu puts his feet up on the bench, crossing his arms and scowling at the wall. He doesn’t say anything.

“Yondu?” Rocket frowns. “What’s up?”

“Was jus’ thinkin’ about my choices for Second,” Yondu mutters. “Ain’t got many.”

“We ain’t got a big social circle,” Rocket agrees, not sure where this is going.

“Can’t ask Stakar or Marty,” Yondu grumbles. “Quill don’t want me askin’ Aleta ‘cause she scares him.”

Rocket snorts.

“An’ things was awkward last time I saw Krugarr an’ Mainframe.”

“That might’ve had something to do with you running away from home because you couldn’t cope with your life not being garbage,” Rocket says helpfully.

Yondu glares at him.

“Just sayin’.”

Yondu scowls at the wall and doesn’t answer. 

“So, what? You want help comin’ up with names? There’s gotta he a few people—”

“I’m askin’ Charlie,” says Yondu shortly. “Sent the message awhile ago now.”

Oh. “You haven’t heard back?” Rocket asks softly.

Yondu shakes his head.

“How long ago did you call him?” Rocket slips off his own bench and climbs into Yondu’s lap.

Yondu grunts, tipping his head back when Rocket nuzzles his neck. “Yesterday.”

Rocket stops. “Yesterday,” he repeats flatly.

Yondu grunts again.

“You mean to tell me,” says Rocket slowly, “that you’re bein’ a sad bitch because he didn’t respond to a message you sent _yesterday?_ ” He sits back and fixes Yondu with a look that he hopes conveys how stupid he thinks this is.

“ _Sad bitch?_ ” Yondu repeats, his mouth falling open.

Rocket gestures at him. “You got something else to call this?”

“‘S an important question I’m askin’!” Yondu protests, but he’s getting that surly look that means he knows he’s being dumb.

“Could be why he’s takin’ a couple hours to think it over,” Rocket tells him lightly.

Yondu narrows his eyes. “Ain’t funny,” he snaps. “I ain’t talked t’ Charlie since the exile.”

“And you figured you’d open with asking him to be in your wedding?”

Yondu pushes to his feet, sending Rocket tumbling to the floor with a squawk. 

“Jerk!” he yells at Yondu’s retreating back before he dusts off his ass and gets back to work. He needs that yaka ore.

Yondu’s back in less than an hour, looking sheepish. “So I heard from Charlie,” he mutters.

“Imagine that,” says Rocket without looking up. “Is he gonna do it?”

“Yeah.” Yondu clears his throat. 

“Cool.” Rocket’s sketching knife designs. Kraglin likes knives, so he should have a good one. “You gonna apologize for bein’ a sad bitch and gettin’ shitty with me when I called you on it?”

“When hell freezes over,” says Yondu cheerfully.

Rocket finally looks up. “I will throw your troll doll out the airlock,” he warns pleasantly.

“Try it an’ your favorite gun goes after it,” Yondu counters. But he’s grinning.

“Toss my gun out the airlock and I’ll tell Mantis about that time you cried during sex.”

“Don’t think I’m the only one who’s done that,” says Yondu mildly. 

Rocket bares his teeth. “Say you’re sorry, old man.”

“Nope.” Yondu raises his chin.

“Apologize before I come over there an’ make you,” says Rocket.

Yondu’s eyebrows shoot up.

So Rocket lunges across the table, barreling into Yondu’s chest hard enough to knock him backwards. They go down with a crash, Yondu’s hands scrabbling at the edge of the bench to stop his fall.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” he bellows.

“Told you to say you’re sorry.” Rocket grins down from where he’s perched on Yondu’s chest.

Yondu gapes at him. “You’re outta your goddamn mind,” he says wonderingly.

“And you’re marryin’ me. What’s that say about you?” Rocket digs his claws into Yondu’s shirt, grinning when he hisses.

“Nothin’ good.” Yondu arches into it, hissing again when Rocket starts in on the buckles across his chest. “Oh, is this what we’re doin’?”

“Would you rather keep talking?” Rocket asks without looking up. He gets the first buckle open and moves to the next. “Someone’s gotta cheer your bitch ass up.”

“Quit callin’ me a sad bitch,” Yondu grumbles. 

Rocket gets the last of the buckles open and goes for the buttons. “I’ll quit callin’ you a sad bitch the day you quit actin’ like a sad bitch.”

“You talk t’ Kraglin like this? Maybe I oughta start spankin’ you.” Yondu grins.

“Kraglin’s nice to me. Maybe you oughta start eatin’ his ass if you want the same treatment.”

Yondu makes a face. “That ain’t my favorite,” he admits.

“Amazing. Who would have thought that’s why you never do it?” Rocket tosses Yondu’s scarf off to the side.

Yondu watches it go with a sigh. “Couple maniacs,” he mutters, tilting his head back when Rocket leans down to sniff his neck. “I ain’t sayin’ sorry.”

“You will.” Rocket puts his teeth right over the faint line of scars that circle Yondu’s throat and scrapes. Real light, enough to make him shiver.

Yondu hums, going lax and pliant. His scent changes, getting more and more musky with every scrape of Rocket’s teeth over sensitive skin. “‘S what you think.”

Rocket shakes his head. “Idiot,” he murmurs fondly, snuffling behind Yondu’s ear and stroking his hands down his chest. The size difference between them means there’s so much of Yondu to touch, always some new neglected places for Rocket to explore. “Why you gotta be so stubborn, huh? You think I don’t know everything about you?” He brushes his lips right over Yondu’s ear, making him shiver. “Ain’t a damn thing you can hide from me. I’m you.”

Yondu reaches up to wrap a big arm around Rocket’s waist. “Ain’t an easy thing,” he says quietly, “reachin’ out after so many years.”

“No.” Rocket nuzzles his neck. “I know it’s not.”

“‘S a little too much like throwin’ myself at their mercy.” Yondu stares up at the ceiling. “I’ve never been good at that.”

Rocket pulls back to look at him. “I thought Charlie was on your side.”

“He was. Don’t mean he didn’t stick by the banishment.” 

“Hey.” Rocket licks Yondu’s bristly chin. “He said yes. You’re cool, right?”

Yondu tips Rocket’s chin up to kiss him, real soft. “Gettin’ there.”

Rocket flexes his claws, tickling over Yondu’s bare skin. “Good. Now you can quit actin’ like a—”

The next kiss is a lot harder, designed to shut him up. Rocket grins into it, feeling Yondu’s tongue against his teeth. “—sad bitch,” he says happily when they part.

“ _Asshole._ ” Yondu shakes his head.

Rocket snickers, ducking his head to lick the tendon on the side of Yondu’s neck. “Respect the pros,” he murmurs.

“Jus’ kiss me already,” Yondu sighs, so Rocket does. Yondu strokes slow up and down his side, and Rocket wishes he’d thought to get his suit off so those thick fingers could wind through his fur. But then that hand moves to his tail, making him gasp. Yondu grins against his mouth. “Got your tail stickin’ straight up, boy. Jus’ like a needy little thing in heat.”

“Shit.” Rocket tucks his face into Yondu’s shoulder. 

Hard to believe they don’t screw around in Rocket’s workshop more often. Ain’t like they’re opposed to semi-public spaces, but usually Rocket has too much flammable or explosive shit laying around to make it a good idea. But just for now he’s willing to throw caution to the wind. He rolls his hips, encouraging his cock to slide the rest of the way out. 

“There we go,” Yondu murmurs to him, petting his ass through the suit. It’s a tease, just enough pressure to get Rocket all shivery without any follow through. Rocket loves it.

“Just like old times, huh?” he pants, pushing back against Yondu’s hand. 

Yondu chuckles. “You was nicer t’ me back then.”

“Like hell I was.” Rocket rocks against Yondu’s stomach. “Your memory’s goin’, I was always like this.”

“Quit callin’ me old, you little shit, or I ain’t gonna do nothin’ nice for ya.” Yondu shifts his hand so his fingertips brush Rocket’s dick.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Rocket whispers. “I’ll be nice.”

Yondu snorts. “Take that shit off. I wanna look at ya.”

No accounting for taste, but Rocket sits up and gets to work. He tosses the suit aside and squirms happily against Yondu’s smooth skin. “I should stick my dick in your pouch,” he says idly when he rubs himself against Yondu’s stomach and brushes the lip of it.

“That’s weird.” Yondu frowns.

“Probably, but you never know. Could be fun.” Rocket grins, humping Yondu’s belly lazily.

“Or it could give me a damn infection.” Yondu scowls. “Get up here an’ lemme suck on your pretty li’l cock.”

Well, when he puts it like that. Rocket crawls up Yondu’s chest until he’s perched close enough that Yondu can get his mouth on him.

“ _God,_ ” Rocket whispers, watching Yondu as he wraps his lips around the tip of his cock. Yondu’s so pretty like this. His eyes fall half closed as he concentrates, and a hint of blue tongue peeks into view. The sight sends heat shooting straight to Rocket’s belly.

Yondu gives him a sly look through blue lashes and clamps big hands around Rocket’s hips to pull him closer. Rocket’s cock slips out of his mouth as he ducks his head, nuzzling at Rocket’s balls.

“Oh shit.” Rocket grabs the fin, desperate for something to hold onto as clever lips wrap around his balls. “Motherfucker.”

Yondu’s rumbling chuckle goes straight through him, from the tips of his toes to where Yondu’s sucking on his balls. He moans helplessly, clutching the fin and trying to breathe. His cock is so hard, and Yondu’s nose keeps nudging it to keep it from getting neglected. 

“This is why I’m marrying you,” he pants when Yondu lets go and moves back a bit. “Holy fuck, your mouth.”

Yondu grins. “Who’s a bitch now, boy?”

“A rock ‘n’ rollin’ one,” Rocket agrees stupidly, watching his cock smear wet across Yondu’s lips.

It makes Yondu snort, but he licks Rocket’s cock anyway. Those huge hands twitch on his hips when Yondu takes him in a little deeper, humming contentedly like he’s gotten a treat. Then one hand falls away, and Rocket moans faintly as he listens to the sound of Yondu’s zipper opening.

“Yeah,” he pants, “touch yourself. God, you love sucking cock.”

Yondu makes a little noise at that, and it vibrates beautifully around Rocket’s dick.

Rocket wants to come on his face and lick up everything he can’t reach. “C’mon, Yondu,” he whispers. “C’mon, suck it. Wanna come all over you. Mark you up.”

Red eyes meet his, looking a little too knowing, but Rocket can’t mind. They’re the same; of course Yondu knows what he wants. And a second later, Yondu starts bobbing his head and Rocket gets to watch his pink cock slide between those blue lips. 

And it’s times like these that Rocket feels the pull, stronger than ever between them, and he remembers _wanting_ Yondu like he’s never wanted anything before in his life. Like he’d die just to touch him once. He reaches a shaky hand out to trace the webbed scars across Yondu’s cheek and wonders how the hell he got lucky enough to have Yondu want him too.

Yondu turns and licks a wet stripe across his palm before he takes Rocket back in, as deep as he can without getting poked in the throat. Rocket’s hand tingles in a wicked counterpoint to the feeling of Yondu’s hot, wet mouth around his cock, and the feel of his tongue working Rocket over just the way he needs.

He comes with a high-pitched sound, and Yondu pulls back just enough to let Rocket’s come hit his chin. Because he knows—Yondu always knows just what Rocket needs.

Rocket shudders, staring down at him with slitted eyes and breathing hard. He’s almost tempted to break their unspoken rule and tell Yondu how much he loves him.

Then Yondu wipes a thumb across his chin and sucks a glob of Rocket’s come off it, and Rocket kisses him instead. Closed-mouthed, because there’s no way he could kiss Yondu soft enough not to bite him now. Yondu’s breath hitches, and his head falls back as he comes, exposing his scarred throat. 

He’s still the most gorgeous thing Rocket’s ever seen. 

Rocket presses his lips against the pale scars on Yondu’s throat. He can’t hold Yondu like he wants to, so he spreads out to cover as much of Yondu as he can. A big hand comes to rest on his back, grounding him, and it feels so good to just lay here with their mingled scents in the air and the steady rise and fall of Yondu’s chest. 

“You’re not a bad lay for a sad old bitch,” he tells Yondu after they’ve been sappy for long enough. 

Yondu flicks his ear. 

—

Rocket’s sent Nebula running errands to get his materials for wedding presents, so she’s not on board when Charlie’s massive ship comes through the jump point. The Quadrant’s a nice sized bird, but she ain’t nothing like a fully crewed, fully armed Ravager galleon. 

“Damn,” Rocket says admiringly, looking it over through the window on the bridge.

Yondu sighs, maybe remembering the _Eclector_ in her glory days. His hand finds its way to the back of Rocket’s neck, and Rocket lets himself be petted.

The comm beeps, and Quill reaches over to answer it. A petite woman with short blue hair raises her eyebrows. “Peter Quill?”

“That’s right. You must be Luria.”

She tilts her head. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Did my homework.” Quill grins. “So how do you wanna do this? Should we lock in?”

“Yep. Port thirty-two. We have it lit for you to see.” 

“Thanks. See you when we get settled.” 

She nods once. “Cap’n will meet you in the docking bay.” And the message cuts off.

“She doesn’t talk much, huh?” Quill muses.

Yondu snorts. “Don’t seem to. She wasn’t first mate when I knew Charlie.” He eyes Quill. “You been doin’ your homework, huh? That’d be a first.”

“This is important.” Quill shrugs, not looking at Yondu. “Don’t wanna mess it up.”

Rocket’s already plopped himself in the pilot’s seat, so he ain’t sure what Yondu’s face does, but there’s a long silent moment and when he looks up Yondu has a hand resting on Quill’s shoulder. They stand together while Rocket takes the Quadrant in.

He hates to break up a moment, but when the locks engage and the airlock seals, he has to announce it. They got a Ravager captain waiting for them. 

Charlie’s bigger than Rocket expected. They all have to crane their necks to look up at him, and he’s nearly as wide as he is tall. His crew wears a khaki yellow that reminds Rocket unpleasantly of Nova prison uniforms, but they look a lot happier than most of the prisoners he’s known.

Which reminds him. He digs out his datapad and taps in a couple names for Nebula to contact. Doing as much time as he has wasn’t fun, but it’s given him some decent contacts on the black market.

“You busy?” Yondu asks him archly, and Rocket smiles up at him sweetly. 

“Just gettin’ stuff for your presents.”

“Now?” Yondu’s eyebrows go up and he looks pointedly at Charlie, who’s standing there watching them like they might do something entertaining.

Rocket shrugs. 

“Been a long time, old friend,” Charlie says loudly; Quill shoots Rocket a dirty look for screwing up their introduction. Whatever; Rocket’s made worse first impressions.

Yondu smiles crookedly and steps up to clap Charlie on the arm. “Sure has. How you been?”

“Not too bad.” Charlie rolls his eyes and pulls Yondu into a hug. When Yondu freezes, he slaps him on the back, lightly enough that he barely jostles him, and steps away. Giving him distance. “So you’re makin’ an honest man outta Obfonteri. How long you two been together now?”

“Little over a year,” Rocket answers, satisfied that this dude won’t pull the same shit Stakar and Martinex did. He smirks a little at the way Yondu and Kraglin both shuffle and clear their throats.

Charlie pauses. “You’ve gotta be Rocket.”

“Hey.” Rocket nods. 

Charlie looks around at the others. “Usually two clans meeting like this follows some etiquette, but you folks don’t look like you give a shit about that. So let’s go to the mess an’ I’ll get you some food that hasn’t been rehydrated.”

“You have access to that?” asks Drax, always up for a good meal.

“Damn right.” Charlie grins. “About ten years back we hit a colonizing ship that was meant for some uncontacted world. Killed the Kree and took their food replicators. Stakar’s been looking to get himself a prize like that ever since.”

“You won’t share?” Rocket likes him already.

“Aleta made me swear not to.” Charlie shrugs. “An’ I don’t cross our lady.”

“Smart,” Yondu murmurs with a smile.

“Which reminds me, why didn’t you ask her to be your Second? Thought those fences were mended.”

Yondu clears his throat. “Didn’t wanna give her an’ Stakar any more reasons t’ fight about me,” he says, which is a lot nicer than just telling everyone that Quill’s scared of her.

Charlie rolls his eyes—or Rocket thinks he does, anyway. Hard to see from down here. “If you don’t give those two reasons to fight, they’ll invent some. I can’t believe that’s changed just because Stakar let you come home.”

“Yeah, well, don’t mean I wanna help ‘em along,” mutters Yondu.

“Fair enough.” They’re attracting looks from crew as they make their way toward the upper decks. Charlie notices Drax and Gamora staring people down and says, “you’ve got yourselves a reputation, you know. Folks is gonna be curious about the oddball clan who never swore oaths.”

“Well, here we are,” Quill says with a forced smile. 

“What kind of things are they saying?” Gamora asks shrewdly.

Charlie glances at her. “This an’ that,” he tells her, teeth flashing in his dark face. “Rumors travel fast out here.” He pushes open a heavy door. “Come on in.”

They step through into a large room where several yellow-clad Ravagers are already eating and drinking. There’s a card game going on in the corner which stops as everyone playing looks up.

“So these are the Guardians of the Galaxy,” says a brown skinned bald man who only looks small because he’s standing next to Charlie. “Welcome aboard.”

Quill’s got the charm out, all big smiles. “Hi, Peter Quill, people call me Star-Lord. You are?”

Rocket’s about to say something when he catches Gamora’s eye and stops himself.

“Name’s Jax. Good to meet you, Star-Lord.” The guy’s as charming as Quill, shaking his hand after offering a brief salute. “Cap’n, we got booze in your rooms for later.”

“Hell yeah,” says Charlie with a grin. “Come on, food’s this way.”

The line parts for them—or maybe for Charlie—and the amount of fresh food in front of Rocket almost blows his mind. This is the kind of shit they need; he hopes that’s Charlie’s idea for Yondu’s wedding present. 

Groot frowns at all the vegetables on offer, and Rocket realizes he’s never seen people eating fresh ones before. “Try not to take it too hard, Groot. These ain’t smart plants like you.”

“I am Groot?” Groot asks quietly.

“I—yeah.” It’s probably just like the slightly sick feeling Rocket gets when he sees animals that look sorta like him being roasted on spits or chopped up for food. “But we’re people. It’s different.”

“I am Groot.” Groot looks a little reassured, so Rocket pats him and then glares at Quill until he stops taking so much salad.

“What’s your problem?” he mutters. “These guys aren’t like Yondu, they probably wash their hands before they cook.”

“Groot ain’t ever seen fresh vegetables before. It’s creeping him out.”

“We eat vegetables.” But Quill looks guilty now.

“No, we buy fresh fruit ‘cause Gamora likes it. We buy frozen vegetables so they last longer.”

Quill stares after Groot as he goes to sit next to Mantis. “We’re terrible parents.”

“Why are we terrible parents?” Gamora steps up behind them. Her tray is full of vegetables.

Quill groans.

—

Something that becomes real clear to Rocket over the course of the evening is that none of these Ravagers seem to know or care who Yondu’s marrying. Luria, who’s currently perched in Jax’s lap, is the only one of the crew who acknowledged Kraglin and Rocket at all. 

Nice to know where they stand.

He can’t be mad. Not when he’s pleasantly drunk and watching Yondu kick ass at darts from the table where he and Kraglin have parked. The booze ain’t a kind he’s had before, and he likes the taste. 

A cheer goes up when Yondu gets another bullseye, and money changes hands with more good humor than Rocket remembers from Stakar’s crew. Good thing Groot went back to the Quadrant with Mantis; damn near everyone’s drunk from what Rocket can see, and the kid don’t need to be around for that.

“Hey.” An Aakon guy who matches his leathers slouches up to the table. He smells like alcohol and interest as he props his chin in his hand and grins at Kraglin. “Hell of a party, gorgeous.”

Kraglin’s eyebrows slowly go up. “Think ya missed somethin’,” he says mildly.

Rocket starts laughing. “Oh dude, this jackass is gonna feel so stupid when he realizes he’s tryin’ to pick up one of the grooms right in front of the other one.”

He’s expecting the guy to feel dumb and leave; instead his face goes the color of old piss and he looks between them, lip curling. “You’re fucking an animal? That’s disgusting.”

Something ugly explodes in Rocket’s gut. He can feel the grin slide off his face. 

“The fuck you say?” Kraglin’s up and in the guy’s face, shoving him backward and stalking after him. “What did you fuckin’ say?”

People are turning to stare, and Rocket can’t breathe. He tries to suck in air as Kraglin punches the guy, and then kicks him when he goes down; Quill and Gamora are pushing past people to get to him so they can pull him off, with Drax pulling knives as the guy’s crewmates jump up to defend him. Charlie and Yondu wade in too, but it’s all distant. 

There’s a ringing in his ears that reminds him of an overheated engine, or maybe buzzsaws. Rocket knows he’s panting, can feel himself moving, but it’s weirdly removed. He’s got the big gun out, the one he takes with him everywhere like Groot’s old security blanket, and he can hear himself say, “move, baby.”

Kraglin freezes, straightening up with an alarmed look. “Rocket—”

Rocket’s finger tightens on the trigger. “I said move,” he repeats. Too calmly; Yondu rounds on him with an expression he’s never seen before.

“What did he say to you?” asks Charlie. His voice is nice, Rocket decides. Soothing. It don’t do anything to calm him down.

“Tell him,” Rocket says to the guy. “Repeat it so your captain can hear why I’m killin’ you.”

“I—” The guy coughs wetly; Kraglin probably busted a rib kicking him like he was. “I just said—”

“Everyone else here is thinkin’ it, but you said it. So go on.” Rocket’s lips curl back from his teeth. “Say it to my face.”

A sharp whistle and a flash of red make the guy scream and cover his head. Not that it matters. The arrow hovers close to his face but doesn’t touch him.

“I suggest,” growls Yondu, “you do what he tells you.”

Sniveling bastard just whimpers again.

And Rocket’s suddenly so tired. He lowers the gun. “Don’t matter,” he mutters. “Fuck it, it don’t matter.”

“The hell it don’t,” snaps Kraglin.

Rocket laughs. “Think I ain’t heard it before?” he snaps, and he can see from Quill’s face that he’s remembering the last time Rocket pulled a gun on someone for insulting him. Same shit, different day. “I know what I look like. This fucker just said what everyone’s thinking.” He shakes his head. 

“Let him up, Yondu.” Charlie’s voice is quiet, and Rocket ain’t looking at Yondu’s face but he knows there’s a hell of a scowl on it. The arrow zips back to his hand and the tension in the room eases way back.

Rocket doesn’t wanna be here anymore. Doesn’t wanna see that miserable fuck get up and limp away, doesn’t want the stares and the mutters that are gonna follow him around the rest of the night. Mix of pity and disgust, just like always, and now it’s gonna be directed at Yondu and Kraglin too, because they’re fucking him, and now that it’s out there they can’t put it back.

He takes the gun and he leaves.

Two legs, then four, and he can’t get home fast enough, scampering through the halls following the scent trail they left hours ago. He wants Groot. _His_ Groot, the one who used to pull him off people before he had Quill and the rest. He wants to fall asleep in those big safe branches again and feel like things are okay.

He stops just outside the Quadrant, clutching the fur on the sides of his face. Groot should be here if he’s getting married. Groot should be able to see his kid growing up. Shouldn’t have had to be him and Quill and Gamora raising the kid, when none of them have the least clue and make him sad by eating vegetables. He ain’t fit to raise a kid. He ain’t fit to be a person.

He might be going off the rails a little.

Rocket tries to breathe and ends up sobbing. He ain’t sure how he gets into the Quadrant, but he’s pounding on Mantis’s door before he can think twice about it.

She startles a little when she answers, and her mouth pinches into a concerned bow. “You are very distressed. What happened?”

“Make me sleep, okay?” he asks. “I don’t wanna be here anymore, so just...”

Her eyes widen. “Rocket....”

“ _Do it!_ ” He bares his teeth at her, like he used to when they first met, only this time he doesn’t flinch when she reaches out and lays her hand on his head.

Last thing he hears is her hiccuping sob and her voice, thick with his misery, whisper “ _sleep._ ”


	4. Chapter 4

Rocket don’t feel much better when he opens his eyes. A glance at the clock tells him he’s been out a couple hours. 

He didn’t dream. That was nice.

“Your room smells very bad,” Mantis tells him. When he looks over, she’s perched on the edge of their bed, not touching anything. “I thought you would prefer to be here.”

Rocket sits up. “Where is everyone?”

“I was unsure how you would react when you awoke, so I advised them to stay outside.” Mantis wrings her hands. “They are very concerned.”

He‘ll bet they are. “So you’re what? Hangin’ out to watch me sleep? That’s creepy.”

She bites her lip. “I have never felt such self-loathing,” she says in a small voice. “Not from anyone.”

Rocket looks away. “If I wanted to talk about it, I would.”

“I know. I merely wanted to tell you that I will listen if you want. I have felt what you feel, even if I don’t understand.” She offers him a wan smile. “I will tell them you are awake.”

He watches her go, taking the long way around the room so she don’t get too close to the laundry pile. It’s nearly as tall as Rocket now.

Kraglin barrels through the door almost the second Mantis is out, Yondu on his heels. “What the hell were you thinkin’, havin’ her knock you out like that?” he demands.

Rocket looks down, picking at a little hole in the furry blanket. “I didn’t wanna be around for it,” he says heavily. “I needed to go away for awhile an’ that seemed like the best way.”

Kraglin opens his mouth to snap back, but Yondu puts a hand on his arm. 

“I don’t like that look,” he says in that soft scratchy voice Rocket loves.

He looks up to take them both in; Kraglin looks pissed, which means he’s scared, and Yondu...

Yondu’s looking at Rocket like he knows what Rocket’s about to say, and it makes him bow his head so he can keep it together.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“Don’t,” Yondu rasps, but he doesn’t try to stop Rocket when he repeats it.

“I’m not doing this.” Rocket stares at the hole in the blanket because that’s easier than looking at them. “If you guys wanna get married, you should do it. But not to me.”

“Because o’ one guy?” demands Kraglin.

“You think it’s only ever gonna be one guy?” Rocket looks up. “You marry me, that’s the rest of your life, Kraglin. Everyone’s gonna look at us and think the same thing. That’s all we’re ever gonna be from now on. I ain’t even legally a person in half the galaxy!” He shakes his head. “Dunno what I was thinkin’ anyhow.”

“We ain’t gettin’ married without you!” Kraglin’s mouth drops open indignantly. “You quit talkin’ like this, princess.”

“I ain’t your goddamn princess!” Rocket hisses. He immediately feels like an asshole when he sees the stricken look on Kraglin’s face. “I keep tryin’ to tell you two an’ you keep ignoring it because you don’t wanna see. I’m an animal. Sure I’m a person too, but I’m a fucking raccoon an’ pretendin’ ain’t gonna change that.”

Yondu’s jaw clenches. “Okay,” he says flatly, “so you’re a raboon.”

“Raccoon,” Rocket corrects him, and then winces.

Yondu shrugs. “Raccoon. Rat. Rodent. Pick one, it don’t matter. I chose you.”

Rocket can’t look at him. 

“I chose you, knowin’ full well what you looked like, an’ I don’t much give a damn what people wanna say about it.”

“But I do,” Rocket whispers. “I ain’t puttin’ you through that, Yondu. I won’t.”

“You makin’ choices for all of us now?” asks Kraglin quietly.

Rocket looks down at his hands. “I don’t wanna get married if I gotta stand up there in front of all those people knowin’ how many of ‘em think we’re disgusting.”

Kraglin hisses a breath, and then the bed dips and there are arms around him. Rocket snarls, but Kraglin just pulls him into his lap. “Marry us,” Kraglin whispers against his ear, “an’ no one’s ever gonna say that shit to your face again.”

Rocket wants so badly to believe him, but when has having a family ever made the galaxy look at him any differently? 

Kraglin’s lips catch his ear, tugging it just the right way to make it tingle. Rocket jerks his head away. “I ain’t in the mood.”

“No?” Kraglin uses teeth this time, which absolutely ain’t fair. “Shame. You looked pretty good up there, ready t’ kill that fucker.”

Rocket wants to be mad. This isn’t exactly subtle, what Kraglin’s doing. “You ain’t gonna change my mind, so quit it.”

“So you ain’t gonna change your mind.” Kraglin shrugs. “I don’t care about that.” He nibbles real delicate on the tip of Rocket’s ear. “If this is all we’re ever gonna be, then why the hell shouldn’t we enjoy it?”

Rocket closes his eyes, sagging against Kraglin. “Deviant,” he says hollowly.

“Yep.” Kraglin’s arms tighten around him. Long fingers start working the straps loose on his suit. “Just the right kind, remember?”

It’s almost enough to make Rocket smile, but he can’t. Not yet. He ain’t even sure why he’s letting this happen; he sure isn’t horny.

But he does like the way Kraglin rakes his fingers through the fur on his belly. Rocket opens his eyes to see Yondu and Kraglin exchanging a loaded look.

Oh hell no. “You don’t get to gang up on me,” he says.

“Ain’t gangin’ up,” Yondu tells him, shrugging his coat off. “Just provin’ a point.”

“I don’t want you to fuck me to prove a point.” Rocket crosses his arms, knocking Kraglin’s hand away from his belly. 

“Point we was provin’ is that we want ya no matter what,” says Kraglin, petting the inside of Rocket’s leg.

It twitches in spite of his best efforts. “I know that! You don’t gotta prove that.” 

Yondu pulls off his shirt and lets it fall near the clothes pile. “You sayin’ no?” 

Rocket opens his mouth to tell him that yeah, he’s saying no, but then he thinks about it. Thinks about how nice it is to have their hands on him, and how they can make him feel small and safe and loved no matter how bad everything’s falling to shit outside their bedroom. 

He thinks he might need this after all.

So he sets his jaw and says nothing, until Yondu nods and kicks his boots off. The pants go next, grungy underwear coming down with them, and then Yondu walks naked to the bed. 

He’s not hard, but that’s not usual anymore. Last year or so it’s started to take his dick awhile to get with the program a lot of the time. Besides, Rocket’s not hard either. 

Kraglin’s boot lands next to the clothes pile, making Rocket jump; the second one goes after it, and then the jumpsuit. When Rocket turns back to him, he’s pulling his undershirt off. He tosses it aside and fixes Rocket with a look.

And the fur stands up on the back of Rocket’s neck. He knows that look.

“Get me the plugs,” Kraglin tells Yondu, and keeps staring at Rocket while Yondu goes to grab them.

Rocket swallows, ears pricked to listen to Yondu fishing around in their stash of sex toys. “You’re still fucking an animal,” he says softly.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I like it, ya ever think about that?” Kraglin raises his chin.

Rocket shivers, but he has to look down. The heat in Kraglin’s eyes is too much for him to take. “That’s sick.”

“Sicker than fuckin’ everyone who fucked him?” Kraglin jerks his head toward Yondu. “I ain’t sure what you thought you were dealin’ with, kid. I’m real fucked up.”

“I know,” Rocket whispers. It’s one of the best things about Kraglin, how twisted he is. The games he invents, the way he can get into Rocket’s head and wind him tight before letting him spin out. Rocket loves it. Loves him, even if he knows better than to jinx it by saying so. 

“Hands an’ knees, princess,” says Kraglin softly, and Rocket moves without thinking; he’s been conditioned to do what Kraglin tells him when he uses that voice.

Rocket grips the blankets, hanging his head so he doesn’t have to look at either of them.

“Got what ya need,” Yondu says quietly. 

“Good.” Kraglin’s scent is changing, sharpening like it always does when he’s turned on. “Set ‘em down. I need the little one.”

Rocket swallows. “It’s late,” he points out. “You don’t got a lotta time to play around.”

A hand stokes along his back, skipping over his hardware and petting all the way down to the base of his tail; Rocket arches in spite of himself. “Ain’t for you t’ worry about that,” Kraglin says. “Your job is to lay there an’ take it like a good little pet.”

Rocket’s hands clench. 

Kraglin pets him again, letting Rocket’s tail slip through his fingers until Rocket’s panting and his cock slips out. 

“Ain’t that a pretty sight,” Yondu murmurs.

Kraglin hums in agreement and flips Rocket’s tail up. “Sure is. An’ look at that greedy little hole. He needs this.”

Rocket hides his face in the sheets, hating how much he wants to just lay here and let them have him. The word ‘pet’ stings and soothes at the same time, the way Kraglin says it, and Rocket’s not sure which he needs right now.

Kraglin will know. Kraglin always knows.

The lube that squirts over his hole is cold, and it makes him jump and tense before the plug presses against him. That’s cold too, and Kraglin pushes the tip into him with no warning.

The sound that comes out of his mouth isn’t human, and a hand across his back pins him down as Kraglin slowly, relentlessly pushes it in.

It don’t hurt, exactly, but it’s _wrong,_ cold and hard and awful; Rocket shakes as he clenches down on it, unsure if he wants it to move or not.

“You can take more’n this,” whispers Kraglin. He starts to rub his thumb in soothing circles across Rocket’s back. “I know just how tough you really are.”

Rocket sucks in a breath, ready to snap, but the feel of a hot finger tracing around the plug steals whatever words he’d been thinking. 

Yondu touches him real softly, like he might break. His finger slips easily over Rocket’s stretched skin, making him tremble.

“Yeah,” Kraglin whispers. “You been thinkin’ some stupid shit, gorgeous, so we gotta get you outta that head o’ yours. Make you remember what’s real.”

“And what’s real?” Rocket gasps, twisting handfuls of the sheets as Yondu presses the plug against his prostate.

“This,” Kraglin tells him. “Fact that nobody knows what you need like we do.” He runs a possessive hand over Rocket’s side. “I ain’t lettin’ you sleep. Not until I’m done playin’ with ya. You’re gonna be sore an’ shakin’ by the time I get through.”

Rocket squeezes his eyes shut as Yondu’s touch moves lower to fondle his balls. He whines, spreading his legs further, but Yondu’s following Kraglin’s lead here, and there’s gonna be no relief from that quarter.

Kraglin pets Rocket’s tail a few times, letting it slip through his hand like an evil fucking tease. “You good, princess?”

Rocket swallows. “Yeah,” he rasps.

“Good,” says Kraglin, and cracks him across the ass.

Rocket yells, jumping; only Yondu’s grip on his balls keeps him in place. Kraglin does it again, and the plug jolts just right against his prostate. And Rocket moans for it like a well-paid whore, going down on his elbows and bracing himself as Kraglin does it again.

“Yeah, this is what you need,” he hisses. “Just a needy little animal after all, and ya know what?” He tugs the plug partway out and shoves it back in, “ _I like it._ ”

Rocket sobs, pinned in place by Kraglin’s hand. He struggles just to feel it press him down harder, snarling wordlessly before Kraglin smacks him again. He could come, he knows he could, just from this if only Kraglin would speed up the rhythm and hit him faster.

It don’t even hurt, not really. It’s the helplessness, the dirty thrill of being held down and played with that gets him, and he wishes Kraglin would pin him down by the throat like he did the first time they fucked mean. 

Then Yondu wraps a hand around his cock, and Rocket shoves his face in the blankets whispering “shit, shit, _thank you_ ” like a good little slut as Yondu jerks him in time with Kraglin’s smacks against his ass. The plug keeps rubbing against his prostate and it’s almost too much, he’s gonna come if they don’t quit it—

“That’s it, make him squeal,” Kraglin hisses at Yondu. “Touch that pretty little cock, we’re gonna breed him like a bitch in heat.”

“Oh my _god!_ ” Rocket’s coming, biting the blanket and sobbing through it as Yondu keeps touching him just right, stretching the moment until the line blurs weirdly between pleasure and pain. 

“That’s right,” Kraglin purrs. “Give it up, princess. Just like that.” He slips the plug out, and Rocket clenches desperately on nothing. “There we go. Now are you gonna be good for us, huh? Gonna be real sweet since we made you come all over yourself?”

Rocket whines. “I can,” he whispers. “I can be good.” He’s all distant and floaty, with only their hands on him to keep him grounded.

“‘Cause you’re a good boy, right?”

Rocket squeezes his eyes shut, leaning into Yondu’s hand when it cups his cheek. “Yes,” he whispers, real soft. 

“Want your tongue on me,” Yondu says softly, and Rocket blinks through his tears to see those red eyes staring down at him. He strokes his cock, hard now and so pretty Rocket’s mouth waters. “You gonna lick me just right?”

“Okay,” whispers Rocket shakily; he closes his eyes and opens his mouth.

“That’s right,” Kraglin murmurs. “Give him your cock. Look at how he needs it.”

He does need it. He needs to smell them and taste them and let them keep him from thinking for a little longer. So he laps at Yondu’s cock when it gets close enough, barely aware of the soft, whiny sounds he’s making. 

Something nudges his ass, and he lifts his head only for Yondu to rest one of those big hands on the back of his neck and ease him back down. 

“Don’chu worry about him,” he says. “We gonna take real good care o’ you.”

It’s Kraglin’s dick. Nothing else is that hot or has that texture. Kraglin’s rubbing the head of his cock against Rocket’s ass, hissing in pleasure. Rocket wants it in him, suddenly, wants the burn and stretch that comes with it. So what if it hurts? Right now he might need that. “Put it in me,” he slurs around Yondu’s cock. “Come on, do it.”

But Kraglin won’t. He never gives in when Rocket’s out of his mind like this. He just pushes the tip of his cock against Rocket’s ass and starts to jerk himself off; Rocket can feel his hand tickling the fur on the backs of his thighs. It’s filthy, it’s perfect, and it’s exactly what he wants if he can’t get fucked.

So he throws himself into the blowjob, drooling over Yondu’s dick and slurping messily. Yondu’s jerking off too, which is probably best, since Rocket can barely focus with his attention divided between the two of them.

“Gonna come in you,” Kraglin groans. “Gonna mark you up, make you smell like me. Fill you up on both ends so you know where you belong.”

Yondu shivers, staring down at Rocket with those eyes that can see to the heart of him. “That’s right,” he says in that scratchy voice. “You lick me so good, boy.”

Rocket has to shut his eyes, losing himself in the taste and the feel. Kraglin’s rubbing his back, holding him down just how he needs, and then he’s making a sharp gasping noise and Rocket can feel hot come hitting his asshole. 

“ _Shit,_ ” whispers Yondu, and then he’s gone too, coming across Rocket’s open mouth with a low moan. 

Rocket swallows what he can, licking his lips before he goes limp as a noodle and flops face first into his own wet spot.

Kraglin eases away from his ass, giving his hole a gentle little pat before he slips off the bed to wash the plug off.

Rocket closes his eyes, panting into the blankets. He turns his head when he smells come, and blinks at the hand Yondu holds out. 

“Made a real mess o’ me,” Yondu says quietly.

So Rocket cranes his neck to lick him clean, mouthing at Yondu’s fingers and lapping up the come like a—yeah, like an animal. The thought twists something in his chest, and he heaves a sob in spite of himself.

“We got you,” Yondu murmurs, reaching out to stroke his head. “You’re okay, boy. We got you.”

Kraglin comes back to bed and scoops Rocket into his arms; Rocket’s too exhausted and fucked out to protest.

“I ain’t changing my mind,” he slurs, tangling his fingers in Kraglin’s chest hair.

“Hey.” That’s Yondu’s hand on his back. “How’s about we give you a day t’ think all this over? You still wanna call everything off tomorrow, then we call it off.”

Rocket rests his chin on Kraglin’s shoulder. “I mean it,” he says around a yawn, “I think you two should get married if you wanna get married.”

“Yeah, thing about that is we’re no good without you.” Yondu’s eyes crinkle a little at the corners when Rocket blinks at him. “We tried. Didn’t work so good when it was just us. Ain’t that right, Krags?”

Kraglin nods. “It’s all of us or none of us,” he says loyally. “Dunno what it’s worth, but I still wanna marry ya.”

Rocket digs his claws into Kraglin’s sides just to hear him hiss. The worst part is that he wants to marry them too. It’s been a long time since they met new people without Stakar’s protection hovering over them, and it’s given him a false sense of security. 

He’d really been starting to feel like a person for awhile there. 

But the reminder was good; it don’t do for Rocket to get any illusions about how people see him. He’s a furry little rat freak and he can live with that. But pulling Yondu and Kraglin down with him? He loves them too much for that. They don’t deserve to be branded perverts for sticking with him, not when they can keep things quiet and stay just like they are now. Maybe they are perverts, but that don’t mean the galaxy’s gotta know about it.

Kraglin lays down, settling Rocket against his chest and petting his side. Yondu slides in facing Kraglin, and Rocket’s cocooned in between them. They smell like stress and exhaustion now that the sex scent is fading. 

It’s not fair, Rocket thinks miserably, not for the first time. This is worse than every bar that’s kicked him out because of a ‘no pets’ policy, or the people who were polite when he commed them but treated him like shit once they saw his face. Usually anger drives Rocket forward; he keeps his reserves of rage close in case he needs them, but now? 

He must be losing his edge, because right now he just wants to curl up and die.

—

Rocket feels like a bomb about to go off the next day; no one wants to talk about what happened last night, but they all keep giving him looks. Quill and Kraglin both seem worried, and Gamora has that look that means she wants to hurt someone and is beating herself up about it.

Rocket slurps his protein sludge, trying to ignore them.

“I am Groot?” 

Everyone pauses, looking awkward.

“What do you mean, what’s wrong?” asks Quill too casually. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Groot gives him a look.

“Some jackass ran his mouth last night an’ pissed me off,” Rocket mutters. “Don’t lie to the kid, Quill.”

“I am Groot.”

“And don’t be a smartass,” Rocket says without any heat.

Groot rolls his eyes. “I am Groot?”

“No, it don’t matter what he said.”

“He ain’t gonna say it again, that’s for sure,” Kraglin mutters darkly.

“You didn’t leave him with a lotta teeth, for one.” Yondu smirks at him. He turns to Rocket, smile dropping off his face. “You still standin’ firm, boy?”

Rocket’s hand tightens on his spoon. “Yeah.” It makes him a little sick, but he ain’t changing his mind.

Yondu sighs. “Then I guess we better message Aleta an’ let her know.”

“Let her know what?” asks Gamora.

Yondu looks at Rocket. 

Fucker’s gonna make him say it. Fine. “I’m callin’ off the wedding,” Rocket mutters.

“I am _Groot?_ ”

“Whoa, what?” Quill stares at him.

And that annoys Rocket enough to set down his spoon. “So sue me,” he snaps. “I don’t wanna have a whole shitload of people judging us for bestiality while they drink our booze! Anyone got a problem with that?”

No one says anything.

Rocket growls. “Fine. I’ll go tell Aleta.” He hops off his chair and stalks off to his workshop.

She doesn’t answer right away, so he types out a message for her to call him and looks over his inbox.

Nebula messaged him earlier; she’s got the yaka ore for Yondu’s darts. And the custom order he’d requested for Kraglin’s gift. She wants to know if he needs anything else before she comes home.

A lump forms in Rocket’s throat, but he swallows it ruthlessly. And then his comm beeps.

“What do you want?” asks Aleta. “I’ve got the food ordered, if that’s what you were worried about.”

Rocket gapes at her. “I—” Shit. He swallows. “I hope they give refunds. We’re callin’ it off.”

Aleta stares at him. And keeps staring, until Rocket squirms uncomfortably.

“Mind telling me why?” she asks in a calm, pleasant voice that makes the fur on Rocket’s back stand up.

He looks down. “I ain’t feeding a whole bunch of strangers who are gonna spend my whole wedding talking shit about how gross it is that Yondu and Kraglin are fucking an animal.”

“You just realized that now?” Aleta’s voice is heavy with irony. “Really? You’re sitting there telling me that it never crossed your mind before this?”

Rocket snarls. “I said it’s off!”

She rests her chin in her hand. “Someone hurt your tender little feelings? Is that what happened?”

His jaw drops. “What?”

“Must have, if you’re only getting dramatic about it now. I thought you knew and didn’t give a shit, rat thing.” Aleta looks amused. “I didn’t realize you were sensitive.”

“I’m not sensitive!”

“Good,” growls Aleta. “Then be a man and _take_ what you want instead of letting one little asshole ruin your life. If you don’t want to marry my boy, then admit it. Otherwise, I don’t wanna hear from you again until the contract is finalized.”

She ends the call, and Rocket’s left gaping at a blank screen.

—

“You wanna talk about it?” Quill asks a few hours later, when Rocket hasn’t come out of his workshop. He sits down gingerly across from Rocket and watches him work.

“Nope.” Rocket holds out his hand for a wrench to build the gun he’s still apparently making for Nebula. 

“Okay.” Quill hands it over. “So are you really calling off the wedding?”

Rocket sighs. “No,” he mutters. “Aleta called me a pussy an’ told me to get over it.” In a way it’s nice, having an excuse not to do what he didn’t really want to in the first place. He’s been turning her words over in his head for the last few hours, and Aleta makes a certain kind of sense. He’s fought for everything else in his life; it was stupid to quit fighting for this.

Quill shudders. “She scares the shit out of me.”

“You sleep next to the deadliest woman in the galaxy,” Rocket points out.

“Nope. Aleta’s scarier.”

Rocket snorts. Quill’s general density about what Gamora’s actually like makes his mind boggle. “She’s scary enough I’m not gonna fight her.” He sighs. “Besides. She wasn’t wrong about not lettin’ one asshole ruin everything for me.” He puts down the wrench.

“No,” Quill agrees softly.

Rocket glares at him, ready to tell him off about getting all emotional over things. But then he sees that Quill’s twisting the cord that connects the earbuds to the Zune. Over and over, around his finger. 

“I know we don’t talk about this stuff,” Quill starts uncertainly.

“We agreed we shouldn’t,” Rocket mutters.

“That’s ‘cause Yondu’s my dad, not because of the other thing.” Quill swallows. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” There’s a bolt in the nut box. Rocket fishes it out and puts it back in the right spot. Probably Groot, getting distracted after messing with his stuff.

“Was that the only reason you wanted to call off the wedding? Or was there, like, a bigger reason?”

“You think that’s a small reason?” Rocket finally looks at him. “I’ve had to fight to make people give me basic respect every day of my life, an’ most of ‘em still think I’m some stupid thing. I hate it. I didn’t want it gettin’ into this thing with Yondu and Kraglin.”

“I get that,” says Quill softly.

Rocket huffs and straightens the wrench. He put it down crooked and now it’s bugging him. “I don’t guess gettin’ married or not actually makes a difference. People are gonna think what they think whether we do it or not. Only way to make ‘em quit is to break up, and that ain’t happening.”

“Good. The stabbing incidents stopped after you got in there.”

Rocket snorts, and even Quill smiles a little.

“No, man, I’m serious. They were all kinds of messed up before you came along. I don’t know why the three of you work, but you do. They’re happy. And you are too.” Quill tilts his head. “It’s nice, you know?”

Rocket swallows. “Yeah,” he says roughly. “I know.”

Quill grins and leans toward him. “And on the bright side, since the wedding is back on, I got an idea for what I’m gonna get Kraglin.”


	5. Chapter 5

Rocket adjusts the crotch of his suit, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. He’s wearing his reds, which are as formal as it gets for Ravagers, and his fur is smooth and clean. The aero rig fits securely over his suit so he won’t have to stand on a box. 

He’s getting married.

“Last chance to run,” he mutters to his reflection, knowing full well he ain’t gonna do it.

There’s a knock, and Nebula comes in without bothering to check if he’s decent. “Quill and the Ravager captain both say it’s time,” she says gruffly.

There had been a little tussle over where to have the wedding; Stakar wanted to do it on the _Starhawk,_ Rocket wanted it on the Quadrant, and they settled on Aleta’s ship because it was big enough to hold all the captains who were gonna be there.

Rocket looks out the window at the mishmash of Ravager ships clipped together in a maze. There’s gonna be parties all over the interlocked ships after the ceremony, according to Yondu, roving through the halls and mixing between crews. Rocket’s glad Quill and Gamora are smart enough to keep Groot corralled; he still remembers the last time the kid was left to the tender mercies of drunk Ravagers, and he’s big enough to impale people now. It’d be a mess.

Maybe he’s just distracting himself.

He takes a deep breath. He’s practiced his vows, deciding at the last minute to stick with the traditional ones because he’s shit with words for how he feels when it comes to Yondu and Kraglin. He tried, but that ain’t him. Why fake it when there’s words already there?

“Let’s do this,” he tells the freak in the mirror.

They walk; Aleta gave them each a room to get ready in, probably so they wouldn’t end up fucking and be late for their own wedding. Apparently that’s happened and it annoys the shit out of everybody. The closer they get to the hangar, the stronger the scent of the flowers gets, until it’s cloying and Rocket has to work to keep from scrunching his face up.

“Those things stink,” Nebula mutters, and Rocket’s suddenly grateful he picked her as his Second.

The hangar is huge and full of people; their clan is sitting toward the front, along with Aleta and Sparkles and Mainframe and Krugarr. Rocket cranes his neck and spots Yondu and Charlie walking in from a different entrance to the hangar; Yondu’s got a shitload of medals pinned on his coat. Rocket has no idea what they are, but they’re shiny and he likes them. From another doorway, Quill and Kraglin make their way toward the front, heads bent together in conversation.

“You got my shit, right?” Rocket feels the need to double check.

“Of course,” growls Nebula. “I put it right where the Ogord woman told me to.”

“Just making sure! I’m nervous.” Rocket’s ears go back at the admission.

She glances down at him. “I _won’t_ mess this up,” she says in a low voice, and something in her tone makes Rocket relax.

“Fuck me,” he mumbles. “This is happening.”

Stakar grins as the three of them approach the altar with their Seconds. They’d set the whole thing up early yesterday before their dry run, and Rocket eyes the candles, the knife, and the ribbons laid out for the ceremony. The whole thing is covered in smelly flowers.

He feels nauseous.

Once they’re where they need to be Rocket activates his aero rig and hovers at eye level with everyone else. There’s a minute before everything starts where he notices Yondu and Kraglin sneaking looks at each other like a couple of kids trying to keep it together, and that’s almost enough to make this shit worth it.

Stakar starts talking, yammering about the value of marriages, and kinship, and a bunch of crap Rocket tuned out after the first time he heard it. It’s all for show, anyway, to remind the gathered clans of Yondu’s place in the fold.

The real part comes a few minutes later, when the contract is read out loud. The people who know Yondu snicker at Rocket’s cap of five sparkly figurines per month, and the people who don’t know Kraglin snicker about the testicular removal if anyone cheats.

Rocket listens to the terms of their marriage being read out, and doesn’t look anywhere but at Stakar. If he looks at the crowd, he’ll bolt, and then Aleta would kill him. And if he looks at Yondu or Kraglin he’s gonna get sappy. So Stakar is the only safe place to focus.

“Do you all agree to the terms in the contract?” Stakar asks them in a serious voice.

“Yes,” they chorus.

“And do you all swear now to bind yourselves together?” They all nod, and then Stakar turns to Rocket.

Here goes. Rocket takes a deep breath and looks at Yondu and Kraglin. If he fucks it up, he can just go die somewhere. “I swear now to bind myself to you,” he says slowly and clearly. “I swear to take up arms to defend you, to share my spoils with you, to provide for you in prosperity and adversity, to increase our wealth, and to avenge you, until the stars take us.”

He did it. Groot gives him a thumbs up from the front row.

There’s a ringing silence, and then Yondu starts. “I swear now t’ bind myself t’ you. I swear t’ take up arms t’ defend you, t’ share my spoils with you, t’ provide for you in prosperity an’ adversity, t’ increase our wealth, and t’ avenge you, until the stars take us.”

Stakar nods, and then it’s Kraglin’s turn. His throat bobs. “I swear now to bind myself to you. I swear to take up arms to defend you, to share my spoils with you, to provide for ya in prosperity and adversity, to increase our wealth, and to avenge you.” He pauses and swallows again. “I go where you go, until the stars take us.”

Yondu looks at him sharply, and Rocket feels winded. So that’s what Kraglin meant about changing things. They should have known.

Stakar smiles crookedly. “You’ve all sworn your oaths. It’s time to seal them.” He picks up the knife and offers it to Yondu first.

Yondu holds out his sleeve for Charlie, who rolls it up solemnly. When he gets it to Yondu’s elbow, Yondu slices cleanly up his forearm. Dark blood wells up immediately. He hands the knife to Kraglin.

Kraglin’s hand shakes a little when their fingers brush over it, and he looks at Yondu like he’d carve his own heart out with that knife if Yondu asked him. But all he does is hold out his arm so Quill can roll up his sleeve, breathing evenly until he can slash open his own arm. 

Rocket licks his lips. He ain’t got a sleeve to roll up, so Nebula crosses her arms and scowls at the Ravagers as he takes the knife from Kraglin. He lays it against his skin and remembers all the other times he’s been cut into. He thinks this is the best reason yet, and applies pressure.

It hurts; he cut deeper than he meant to, but if it’s blood they want, it’s blood they’re gonna get. He hands the knife back to Stakar, and the Seconds each pick up a ribbon.

The three of them step close together, holding up their forearms. Kraglin hisses when they press the wounds together, but when Rocket gives him a look, he smiles.

“Your battles are my battles,” Charlie intones as he winds the first ribbon around their arms. He ties it off and steps back.

“Your battles are my battles,” says Quill in a clear voice. He looks sheepish but happy when he ties the second ribbon on them.

Nebula steps forward after Quill backs off. “Your battles are my battles.” She ties the ribbon tight enough that they all wince.

“These three have bound themselves in blood and flame,” Stakar announces; Rocket’s arm starts to itch where Yondu’s bleeding into his cut. “It has been witnessed.”

Rocket tries to twitch his arm to relieve the itch; Kraglin catches him and raises his eyebrows. Their blood’s staining the ribbons a purple-brown color and it reminds Rocket of the time Groot got into Quill’s candy stash and barfed all over Gamora. 

He wishes _his_ Groot was here. Lylla too; she’d be amazed he managed to land anyone with his rotten personality. Or maybe she’d be proud; he likes to think he’s grown up.

But he’s distracted from that thought, because the ribbons come off, one by one, and get fed to the big candle by their Seconds. They take a minute to wrap up their arms; Rocket hisses at Nebula not to tie the bandage so tight.

“You cut too deep,” she mutters, and yanks it tight enough to make his eye twitch.

The gift exchange comes next, and now Rocket’s nervous, because if his gifts suck with a hundred Ravager captains watching, he’s gonna feel like a real asshole.

Yondu and Kraglin go first, which don’t help things because it gives their presents a chance to look better by comparison. Rocket probably should have considered that he was gonna get insecure over this, but he’d been busy feeling insecure about other shit.

Yondu’s face breaks into a huge grin when he sees the egg-shaped bauble Kraglin got him. It’s gold, jewel-encrusted, heavy enough to bludgeon a man to death, and just about the ugliest thing Rocket’s ever seen.

He’s gonna spend the rest of his life dusting it, he can see it now.

Kraglin opens a long, slim box that contains three sleek throwing knives. He carefully lifts one out of the box and tests the balance before squinting at it closer. Then he laughs and holds it out for Rocket to see.

Yondu engraved ‘fuck ‘em up, Obfonteri’ on the blade in fancy Xandarian letters. Rocket can’t help it, he snickers too.

Then it’s Rocket’s turn, and he has to stop himself from grooming as Yondu opens the box with the yaka darts. He freezes as soon as he sees them, mouth opening a little. “Hell,” he breathes, “I been wonderin’ what the hell was wrong with my fin this whole time!”

“Wait, they work?” Rocket’s delighted.

Yondu whistles, and all of them rise unsteadily and wobble in midair before he grabs them and sticks them back in the box. “Might need some practice,” he admits sheepishly, grinning a little at the awkward muttering in the crowd. Yondu’s deadly enough with one arrow; they should be scared of what he’ll be able to do with these.

Rocket’s pretty proud of himself as he takes the box from Yondu and opens it to find—

“You got me a box?”

“It’s a bomb-proof box!” Yondu says indignantly. “For all the really dangerous shit you’re makin’ in that workshop.”

Rocket blinks, lifting his box out of the bigger box. It’s heavy, lined with a whole bunch of containment materials. He grins. “ _Nice._ Now Quill can’t bitch about lettin’ me keep unstable metals on the ship!”

“Yes he can,” Quill says quickly. “He definitely can.”

“Shut up, Quill, I’m getting married here.” Rocket puts his box back happily.

Kraglin snickers, elbowing Quill good-naturedly. Then he gestures toward a big box sitting next to the altar. Rocket didn’t notice it before, and now he’s wondering how Stakar managed not to trip over it.

Maybe he did. A guy can dream.

Rocket opens it carefully and lets out a whoop. Inside, there’s a mess of spare parts and components, every one of them useful. Some are actually rare metals that Kraglin must have hunted down special, and that’s enough to warm his bitter little heart. “Baby, it’s perfect.”

“You got him _scrap?_ ” Stakar sounds vaguely scandalized.

“He really knows me.” Rocket’s grinning. There’s even a couple prosthetics in there. “Go on, open yours.”

Kraglin blinks at the small, curved knife and holds it up curiously. “It’s real pretty,” he says, testing it. “Nice shape.”

“It’s vibranium,” Nebula tells him shortly. 

“Dude! Back off, this is my wedding present,” snaps Rocket. “It’s vibranium. Couldn’t get a lot of it, that’s why it ain’t very big. Won’t lose its edge, so you never have to sharpen it.”

Now Kraglin’s staring at the little knife properly. “Where the hell did you find vibranium?”

Rocket shrugs. It’s better for everyone if Quill and Gamora never learn that Rocket had Nebula shake down a bunch of people to get it.

As much as Rocket would love to dig around in his box of parts and maybe build something worth putting in his bomb-proof box, they’ve gotta exchange gifts with their Seconds. So he straightens up and hovers a little higher to watch.

Yondu’s gift to Charlie is a dozen spacesuit/aero rig combos, enough for his top bridge crew; Rocket can’t help but preen about his tech being considered good enough to give away like this. 

“I’d give you your present,” Charlie says with a big grin, “but it’s being installed in your lower decks. You liked my food replicators, right?”

Drax’s whoop drowns out whatever Yondu says in response, and Stakar’s mouth falls open.

“Charlie,” he says, wounded, “really?”

“Shut up, Stakar! They’re gettin’ married!” Aleta yells at him; he shuts his mouth with a huff.

Looks like Groot’s gonna have to get used to fresh vegetables. Rocket can talk to the kid about it later. Explain composting, maybe.

Kraglin and Quill are trying not to grin at each other as they take their turn. “Well, Charlie’s gift made mine kind of unnecessary,” Quill says with only a little resentment, “but here.”

Kraglin opens the envelope. His whole face breaks into a startled grin. “Aw, Pete.”

“You still like that place, right?” Quill scratches the back of his head.

“Sure do. An’ free meals for a year? At any location? This is great.” Kraglin looks back up from the envelope. “It’s a great gift.”

Something shifts on Quill’s face, soft and proud and a little like the way Rocket’s seen Nebula look at Gamora sometimes. Kraglin’s chin gives a little wobble and he pulls Quill in for a rough, back-pounding hug.

Knowing Quill, he’d probably cling, but they got a lot of people around, and so he pulls back, blinking a little more than usual. “I’m just glad you like it, man,” he mutters.

“I do. Here’s yours.” Kraglin gestures at a midsize box that Stakar’s been holding like a chump while they hug it out.

“Oh! Thanks.” Quill takes it and grins; Kraglin went the extra mile and wrapped it in paper, Terran-style, just like Quill always does for Groot’s presents. Apparently you can’t just put shit in a box, you gotta wrap it up after that too. Rocket would bitch, but he saw that box Quill had carried around from his mom. It was pretty.

“ _Holy shit,_ ” Quill blurts loudly, making the Ravagers snicker. “Holy shit, Kraglin, where'd you find this stuff?”

Kraglin scratches his cheek. “Put the call out about a month ago. There’s way more stuff out there than I thought, an’ no one else knew what t’ do with it, so I got real good bargains.”

Quill holds up a rectangle that’s bigger than his old Walkman. “Do any of you know what this is?” he demands.

“Look at the rest of ‘em before ya freak out,” snaps Kraglin. “I got like five o’ them BHS things.”

“This is newer tech than I remember,” says Quill excitedly. He pulls out another, flatter rectangle. “And this is a CD! That was, like, cutting edge when I was a kid. Before the Zune came out.”

“Figure we can watch a few of ‘em together,” mumbles Kraglin as Quill digs through his box like a little kid.

“Hurry up, Quill, it’s my turn,” growls Nebula; Rocket can hear Gamora’s “oh my god” from the front row.

“Fine, fine.” Quill sets his box aside and grins, too happy to be pissy about Nebula’s social graces. Or lack thereof.

Rocket takes the box that Nebula hands him and opens the lid. “What the fuck?”

There’s a head. In the box. Staring with blank dead eyes up at him. After a second, he recognizes the jackass from Charlie’s crew, the one who called him an animal.

“He insulted you,” says Nebula gruffly. “He threatened your marriage. And,” she adds, grabbing the ruffled (very limp, very dead) headfins and holding the head up for the horrified Ravagers to see, “he can be an example for anyone else who wants to insult you!”

“ _Yeah!_ ” yells Drax; next to him, Mantis beams and claps enthusiastically.

Gamora buries her head in her hands.

Rocket ain't sure what his face is doing. Probably the same thing Quill, Yondu, and Stakar’s are where their mouths are hanging open and they look a little queasy. Finally he clears his throat. “Thanks.”

Nebula nods solemnly.

Stakar doesn’t look like he’s recovering anytime soon, so Rocket zips over and grabs his own present from behind the altar. “I believe you requested this,” he says to Nebula as he hands it over.

She tosses the box aside and pulls out the gun he made her. He’s improved the accuracy by several yards in the redesign, and even though it’s hard to tell with Nebula, he thinks she likes it.

“I will use this to kill Thanos,” she says, looking right at Rocket. 

The entire mass of gathered Ravagers shifts uneasily, and the muttering that picks up ain’t the joyous kind. Rocket catches Gamora gone rigid from the corner of his eye, and Drax and Mantis ain’t smiling anymore.

“Well,” Rocket says loudly, turning to Kraglin, “you were right. She made it weird.”

—

Rocket doesn’t remember much about the party that follows; it’s a whirlwind of drinks, congratulations from people he doesn’t know and couldn’t care less about, more drinks, talking shit about Stakar with Aleta, still more drinks, frowning as Mantis and Nebula make out in the middle of the hangar, and even more drinks until he thinks he’s about to pass out. At one point he gives up and climbs into the vents to get a goddamned minute to himself.

He does remember Quill and Gamora dancing, with her giggling into Quill’s shoulder and probably high off the flowers like everyone else. They looked happy. So did Stakar and Aleta, when he spotted them leaving the party early with her hand on his ass. Gross, but he wishes them well. He’s even happy enough to be nice to Martinex when he bumps into him.

At the end of the night, once Rocket gives up and retreats to their room on the Quadrant, he finds Yondu and Kraglin already there. Yondu’s in his underwear holding his ugly egg like a baby and Kraglin’s passed out in their bed, snoring wheezily.

“You came back here without me?” Rocket demands.

“Couldn’t find ya, figured you was havin’ fun,” says Yondu, shrugging. “Didn’t wanna drag you away from a party.”

Rocket eyes Kraglin; he don’t look like he’s wearing anything under the blankets. “You ditched me at our wedding to come home and fuck,” he says flatly.

Yondu looks embarrassed.

Rocket sighs. “So was it magical now that you’re married to him?” He’s only being a little sarcastic; he knows how long they waited for this.

“Don’t be an ass,” Yondu mumbles, setting his egg on the headboard and patting his knee.

Rocket raises his eyebrows. “ _I’m_ an ass?”

“Oh, get over here.” Yondu rolls his eyes.

Rocket huffs, but climbs into Yondu’s lap. He’s tired, Yondu smells like sex and Kraglin, and he deserves some petting. “I can’t believe you ditched me at our wedding.”

“Didn’t,” grumbles Yondu as he picks at the straps on Rocket’s suit. “We ditched you _after_ our wedding.”

“Shit like this is why Gamora thinks you’re no good for me,” Rocket grunts.

“Gamora don’t think I’m good enough for anyone.” Yondu mutters. 

“So live down to her expectations, why don’t you?” Rocket lets Yondu push his suit off his shoulders. “Besides, her problem with you ain’t really about you.”

“I know that. Li’l sister talks a lot when ya actually listen to her.” Yondu reaches out to stroke the good spot under Rocket’s chin. “We did look for ya.”

“Bullshit,” says Rocket lightly, but he lets his eyes slip closed as Yondu pets him. He yawns. “Thanks for waitin’ up for me.”

“Don’t be stupid. ‘Course I waited up.” Yondu wiggles himself down the bed so he’s not sitting up anymore.

Kraglin mumbles in his sleep and rolls away from them.

“Nice bein’ married to you too,” mutters Rocket, which makes Yondu snicker.

“It is nice,” he says quietly, and Rocket looks up at him. A warm blue hand settles on the back of his neck, ragged fingernails scratching just right through the fur. 

Rocket lets out a shaky breath, closing his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispers, “it’s pretty nice.”

—

“Okay, okay, shut up!” yells Quill, bouncing a little. “It’s starting.”

They’re crammed in the rec room to watch the first of the VHS tapes Kraglin got Quill. Rocket doesn’t have high hopes based on the cover, but he’s willing to play nice. And he can be moral support for Kraglin, who’s looking like he has regrets. 

Yondu’s got his arms crossed in his chair, trying and failing to look like he’s not curious as hell about these movies Quill’s been telling him about for years now. 

Drax is already nodding off; Groot whacks him and he snorts. “I’m awake.” He blinks at the screen. “Oh right. Quill’s primitive entertainment from his homeworld.”

Quill looks offended, but not enough to interrupt the movie. There’s a weird bird flying around on the screen.

Rocket rests his chin in his hand as some whiny girl pisses and moans about having to watch her kid brother.

“Sounds like you when you was a kid,” Yondu tells Quill, and Kraglin snickers.

“Does not!”

“I probably woulda traded you t’ the goblin king if he’d been offerin’,” Kraglin muses; Yondu shoots him a look and he adds, “I’d get ya back though.”

“Thanks,” Quill grumbles.

“That is David Bowie?” Drax sits up a little. 

“Ain’t what I was picturin’.” Yondu frowns.

Drax peers at Quill. “Perhaps the hybridization had some adverse effects. David Bowie is much better looking than you are.”

Rocket laughs as Quill’s mouth falls open in outrage.

“Shut up!” Nebula snaps. “If you keep talking through the movie I’m going to sew your face to your genitals.”

The shuts everyone up for awhile, at least until Drax starts snoring again. Groot gives him a disgusted look and scoots closer to Gamora, who’s nodding off against Quill’s shoulder.

“Anyone else think this sucks?” Rocket asks after the puppets sing a song with David Bowie.

A chorus of “yes” answers him.

“I remember it being better,” Quill mutters.

“Shhh!” Mantis flaps her hand at them. “I am watching!”

So they shut up and watch, because Nebula looks like she really will sew someone’s face to their genitals if they mess up Mantis’s viewing experience.

There’s a silence after it ends, and finally Gamora tactfully says, “well, that was interesting.”

“Maybe the other ones will be better,” Quill mutters. He looks embarrassed by his planet.

“I mean, they was only five units for five,” Kraglin says.

Quill slowly turns his head. “You only spent five units on my present?” 

Yondu turns to level Kraglin with a look that could peel paint. “Yeah, Krags. Issat what you’re tellin’ him?”

Kraglin senses danger. “Just on the movies! The rest cost more!”

“Good.” Quill pushes to his feet. “Because if I find out that I spent almost two hundred units on your gift certificate and you got me twenty units worth of stuff? I’m gonna sit on your head.” He looms over Kraglin and adds, “and fart.”

“Peter, that’s disgusting,” says Gamora.

Kraglin goes a chalky color. His throat bobs.

“No one told me there was a spending limit.” Nebula frowns. “How much were we supposed to spend?”

“How much did you spend?” Rocket asks. “What’s the going rate for cutting a guy’s head off?” The head in question had been discreetly dumped out the airlock the day after the wedding. 

Nebula shrugs. “Charlie demanded seventy units for it.”

“That’s a bargain for an active crew member,” Yondu muses; Gamora nods like that’s a normal statement.

“You fuckers. I spent more than both of you.” Rocket scowls.

“You also tried t’ cancel the wedding,” Yondu points out. “We paid in emotional distress.”

“You readin’ Gamora’s self-help books now?” Rocket asks him sourly.

“Might be.” Yondu leans back, unashamed.

Rocket rolls his eyes. There are dumber ways for Yondu to try crawling into Gamora’s good graces, but none Rocket can think of at the moment. 

“Besides,” Kraglin points out, “both o’ you liked your presents just fine before we started talkin’ money. Ain’t it the thought that’s supposed t’ count?”

“That was before the movie sucked,” Rocket tells him; he deflates like a balloon.

“I can look for more,” he mumbles.

Quill’s face softens. “Nah, don’t worry about it,” he says, reaching out to ruffle Kraglin’s hair. “At least unless the rest of them suck. Next week we can watch Beaches.”

Kraglin makes a face but doesn’t dare retaliate with Yondu sitting right there. “Sure,” he mutters with a heavy sigh. He doesn’t even bother fixing his hair.

“Can I have the Labyrinth movie if you don’t want it?” Drax asks.

Quill frowns at him. “Why?”

Drax shrugs. “David Bowie is very sexy.”

“Oh god.” Quill’s face twists up in disgust. “Gross, dude, you can’t jack it to David Bowie!”

“I can and I will. May I have the BHS?”

Mantis hands it over. “Here you go, Drax!” she says brightly.

“Thank you.” He takes it and heaves himself off the couch. He doesn’t look back as he leaves.

There’s a collective moment of silence in which Quill stands there quivering in indignation. “He’s jacking off to my childhood!” he finally bleats.

Yondu bursts out laughing, and Rocket sits back with a smirk to enjoy the ensuing drama. Quill’s ruffled feathers are gonna need soothing; inevitably Yondu and Gamora will work out which one of them gets the job. 

Kraglin catches his eye and smiles, one of those rare soft ones that Rocket don’t see too often. Worse, Rocket can feel his own mouth smile back. Married life is gonna turn him soft if he lets it; he keeps getting tripped up and mushy every time he remembers these jackasses are his _husbands._ It’s the sort of thing he could get used to.

Weddings suck, is what he’s trying to say. But being married? Yeah, Rocket thinks he might like it after all.


End file.
